Memory of Bloodstained Glass
by Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora
Summary: After a fight with their brothers, England and Japan are kidnapped by the parallel nations. They are condemned to torture for their "sins" committed during their history. As Japan and England are driven insane by the agony, the other nations race to find them. England and Japan find solace only in in their memories. But why is France...a comfort to England in his darkest memory?
1. Memory I

The shouting had become hoarse by the time Scotland punched England in the face. _Why do we continue to do this every bloody year? _England thought as he glared daggers at the red-haired Scotsman as he pulled at his hair. Since the deadly wars of the past had ceased to be in humans' memories, the brothers' human bosses had requested that they hold annual meetings, which actually meant _"do not declare war on each other or spark an international incident with two or more parties involved."_

Needless to say, England and his brothers were not happy. They had content with what they had been doing for years: beating the shit out of each other and moaning drunkenly about past grievances. The "meetings" that they had were held in Scotland's house. Scotland had smirked and proclaimed smugly that it was because he was the oldest and most organized of the four. England forced himself not to laugh out loud.

_Our bosses probably thought it would be best to hold the meeting in Scotland's house because he's mostly drunk, anyway. _Although Scotland's house appeared elegant and refined on the outside, England's eldest brother's house was covered with empty whiskey bottles and filled ashtrays with documents collected or not in various places in the house.

_And people wonder why I'm the representative of the United Kingdom, _England had thought many times while nursing a bloody nose or broken bone or two. In the present time, England glowered at the painted picture of one of the Scottish heroes of the past. Scotland remained patriotic as ever. Besides having pictures of the Scottish countryside and the depictions of controversial heroic battles, Scotland had various paintings of warriors and leaders throughout his history, including Robert the Bruce, one of the bloody Scottish kings. One time Scotland had broken England's arm because he overheard him calling him Robert the Brute. _I still have a bloody scar where you stabbed me, you bastard! _England thought as he growled at the sight of one of the thirteenth century defenders of Scotland.

"Well, you've got your bloody wish!" England spat. Sharp pain coursed through him as Scotland lifted his head toward his face. "You're independent now!" His anger increased when he saw Scotland's smirk. "You're free from me now, just like that fat bastard wanted!" He managed to break away from Scotland's grip, breathing hard. His emerald green eyes feverishly looked at the three pairs of eyes that were now staring at him coldly. England ignored the pain collecting in his throat as he spoke again. "Why the bloody hell do you have to rub in my bloody face?" His last sentence almost came out as a scream, echoing in the room as Scotland's self-satisfied grin echoed in his mind.

"I can't resist watching you squirm," Scotland stated with a dark gleam in his eye. "After all you did to me, and to my brothers, it feels nice…watching you suffer so."

"_Your _brothers?" England almost choked. His nails made indents into his palms, and his hands turned white. "They're my brothers too, you stupid skirt-wearing drunkard!"

"Some brother you were," Wales uttered with cold rage, "given of how you used me as your servant as soon as you gained power."

Scotland's eyes narrowed, and spittle started dripping from his mouth as he suddenly yelled and grabbed England's collar. "Don't you remember?" he hissed. England almost shuddered from the coldness in his voice. "Wales, our bloody brother, became your first colony. Our languages almost became forgotten by our _people _because of you!" His grip tightened, and England found himself drowning in his brother's rage-filled gaze. "And because of you, we were dragged into wars that we had no interest in! You almost killed Ireland, you stupid fucker!"

At the mention of their names, Wales and Ireland turned their cold and unforgiving eyes on their youngest brother. England was beginning to find it hard to breathe, with Scotland now holding his throat in his hands. "Your own brothers!" Scotland continued to scream. "The ones that used to carry you on our backs during our time before you fucked everything up!" England's eyes widened as he started to become light-headed. Scotland's face and his fiery hair started to fade in and out of focus. Suddenly, England collapsed on his knees and started to cough violently as his brother's hold on him ceased. He could feel the three pairs of eyes burning into his back, and his gasping face met theirs. Scotland wasted no time to crouch down next to him.

"I'm glad I'm free of you, you arrogant Englishman. You have no idea what it means to want to be free," he stated, laughing at the shock and then anger echoing across his brother's face. "Now I join Ireland in his independence, just like Wales fourteen glorious years ago." He smiled, the color draining from England's face. "Isn't that great, _brother_?" he said in mockery. England still didn't respond. "I still remember when I told France about my independence." Laughter echoed throughout the room, and in his glee Scotland didn't see England look up at the sound of France's name.

"It was so cold that night, but he seemed to be happy for me. "'I am happy you got yourself rid of that horrible Englishman,'" I remember his saying. We remained closer even after our alliance," Scotland whispered slyly even as his brother apparently was affected. For some reason his face became even more white. "Then he asked me to come over!" Scotland did not yet realize the stunned look on England's face, or of the lips starting to tremble. "How could I say no to a good fuck? I mean, he is very good in –" Suddenly Scotland found himself hard on the ground with a scrawny England on top of him, with a furious expression on his face.

"What the hell, England?" Scotland roared as England feverishly tried to injure his skin wherever he could reach. A faint purplish bruise started to darken on his face before Wales and Ireland could restrain the furious and struggling England. Scotland felt blood from a punch to his face drip onto his chin. Dark emerald green eyes met the almost identical ones with rage.

"I'm tired of this shit!" Scotland roared as England continued to struggle. "I'm tired of you getting pissed off when I mention the goddamn useless nation!" He inched closer to England's face. "And you know what? I don't understand why Mother sacrificed her life for you!" Scotland harshly held England's chin. "Why? For such a useless, _deploring_ life?" Suddenly England stopped struggling as Scotland continued to yell. "You're exactly like Ancient Rome, building an empire only on death and blood!" he hissed. "Ancient Rome should have killed you!"

England's eyes widened impossibly wide as he became limp in his brothers' arms. His arms lay limp by his sides, and his entire body started to shake as his white face stared at the harsh face of Scotland. He tried to open his mouth but couldn't speak. _Ancient Rome…_ His thoughts started to turn back to the ancient past, when he had been alone and afraid. Another memory, of angry tears and rage pulsing through his chest as blood leaked from the cuts on his hands.

"Stop it!" England stared dully at the youngest sibling before them. Northern Ireland, with her dark brown hair and dark blue eyes, looked nothing like her brothers. She had been born in the bloody aftermath of the Irish Independence. England had found her, a small thing with only a tuft of dark brown hair and the biggest dark blue eyes he had ever seen. She had been around the human age of two years old, and since that day more than one hundred years ago, she had grown up in England's house. She only met her brothers during their meetings, for despite being fourteen years old in human years, their bosses had stated that she shouldn't be unsupervised. _Probably only there to see we can get along, _England had thought with a slight chuckle when he had heard that shortly after the destruction of Scotland's house. Northern Ireland's dark blue eyes as she looked at the still form of her closest brother, and she was about to reach for him when Ireland barked, "Leave us alone, you stupid bastard child!" England didn't have to look to know that Northern Ireland had closed the door to the room behind her and started to sob. "No one wants you here either, England." England could only stare dully into Ireland's emotionless brown eyes. "Go to hell."

Shakily, England finally stood. No one moved to help him. Their hateful stares burned into his back, and he heard Northern Ireland's wails as he steadily walked along the hallways. This had been the worst fight that they had had. Not once had Scotland or any of his brothers had mentioned their mother even during the most violent times in their history. Until now. Now as he stood behind the doorway, he could hear the rain outside. It would pelt against his face, cold like the ice outside, but somehow England found himself not caring.

He stepped outside into the rain, not noting that Northern Ireland was beside him until her voice echoed into the sky.

"England, why are you crying?"

England didn't stare into the girl's dark blue eyes as his footsteps echoed in the snow.

"It's only the rain," he whispered.


	2. Memory II

_Jyūnigatsu jyūsan nichi._

_Sibiwol Sipsam._

_Shí èr yuè __shísān hào__**.**_

Or…December 13.

It didn't matter how someone said the date. It meant the same to four different nations.

China was fuming. "I taught you better than this, aru!" His amber eyes burned into Japan's. His face was aflame in anger.

"China, my boss meant no disrespect when he visited the Yasukuni Shrine," the shorter Asian nation stated calmly. His expressionless eyes met the older nations, inwardly grateful that whenever they had arguments he remained calm. South Korea was looking at Japan with a look of disgust on his face. Taiwan didn't even look at him, but that didn't mean he couldn't see the anger in her eyes.

The situation had started when Japan's boss, Moriyama Natsuhi, had visited the Yasukuni Shrine on December 13. _On today of all days_, Japan thought as he watched in horror on the television as he had watched the news report. That was when China had appeared, anger explicitly on his face. Since the end of the Second Sino Japanese War over one hundred years ago, Japan had not visited the Yasukuni Shrine. It had been one hundred years since the Nanjing Massacre. The deaths and the fires burning for six weeks remained embedded in his mind, and Japan was always careful to not to approach any of his former siblings on that day in December. For although South Korea and Taiwan had not been traumatized and scarred by the event as Chinawas, they each had suffered in one of the darkest times in Japan's past.

America-_san _did not understand. _"Why are you and China so tense? Aren't you dudes supposed to be Asian or something? Family and all of that?" _Although Japan would never say this to America-san, he had no sense of history. He did not see the glassy emerald eyes of England-_san_ when he mentioned of the American Revolution, or of the hurt in his brother's eyes – Japan could not remember his name at the present time – when he hugged his arm around him when he mentioned a visit to the White House. America-_san_ didn't understand why the Middle Eastern countries shied away from him, and why they were afraid of him.

And of why they wanted him dead.

Although not stunned by the fact that his boss had visited the controversial shrine comprised of the war dead and war criminals, Japan was always disappointed by his bosses. He told them every time when they first entered office to not visit the Yasukuni Shrine. _And so the cycle begins again. _Normally China nor the other nations would visit him whenever a report such as this surfaced, but the date of one hundred years passing on the day of the Nanjing Massacre was too much for China and the others to handle.

"Why?" China continued to yell. Japan inwardly flinched, noting of the hurt and despair in China's eyes as anger continued to burn in those amber depths. "Why, today of all days?" His hands clenched into fists. "You of all people know what today is!"

"Of course I do," Japan murmured softly. He wasn't certain if China had heard him. Memories of fire and blood echoed in mind, making an inward scream rise through his throat. He swallowed. He didn't like to think about those times, when most of the world had been his enemy and of the hatred and sorrow that still remained. "I remember Nanjing, China, which is why –"

"Then why did your boss visit?" China screamed. His voice cracked, and his eyes feverishly blinked. "Why did your boss visit that…_shrine _on December 13?" Upon the word shrine, China's mouth became an angry snarl. "He made my people so upset!"

Japan had seen the massive protests across China's house as soon as the broadcast was announced. He could still hear their angry words, even though it had been many centuries since he had spoken China's tongue. The students destroying Japanese-made cars and chasing after an old Japanese man had caused uncharacteristic anger to rise within him, but Japan didn't say anything. His expressionless eyes surveyed the room. Various Japanese paintings were in the room, as were multiple artifacts of his history, including samurai swords. As a rule, Japan never put pictures of his history that caused any nation pain. That did not make it so harsh words were not exchanged between them, however. Although once close, Taiwan refused to speak with him, and she mostly spent most of her days visiting with China and occasionally South Korea. When either of them got into an argument – for which there were many – Taiwan used to go to Japan for comfort. Now she simply looked at him with eyes similar to South Korea's.

"I am sorry this happened, China," Japan stated with bated breath. South Korea looked at him with shock and rage as the nation bowed to them. _He hasn't forgotten how he was under my rule. _"This was a mistake by my boss, and I apologize. This will not –"

"You always say that, da-ze!" Japan looked up expressionlessly, his heart clenched, as South Korea started to yell at him. His dark brown eyes held no warmth reserved for his older brother, or of the cheerfulness that the other nations knew. "You always say that this will never happen again, but it does!" His finger shook as he pointed harshly at Japan. "Your bosses visit that place that holds those demons that killed so many of our people every year, maybe even twice a year!" Tears trailed down his cheeks. "Your politicians say all the time that the Nanjing Massacre never happened! That the stories of the comfort women were _exaggerated_!"

Suddenly the normally cheerful South Korean pulled at Japan's kimono. "You tried to erase my language, my culture! You monster!" Japan's eyes widened at the surge of rage in South Korea's face as he tried to aim at his face. "You invaded my lands, and took almost _everything _from me!"

Japan's heart was still as South Korea neared to his face. "That wasn't enough though, was it, Japan?" Ice-cold shudders almost escaped from Japan "It's your fault that the Korean War happened!" South Korea did not yet notice the stunned and pained look on Japan's face once he said those words. "If you hadn't come and divided us to how to defeat you, my older brother would still be here with me!" At the mention of his older brother, South Korea started to wail. "It's all your fault," he wailed as his grip loosened on Japan. The smaller nation was still, his formerly expressionless face numb with shock.

"He's right, you know." Japan inwardly gasped as Taiwan started to speak. "You took me over too, Japan. For some many years." Dull anger echoed through her voice. "I felt the death of every one of my people as you killed them. I still remember the day you were defeated. That was the happiest day of my life." She smiled softly for a moment, but then her face became a mask of anger again. "You had to fight for China's land, didn't you? Everyone knows they belong to China."

"I don't care about those islands, Taiwan." Japan stated dully. "How many times have I told you that I have told my bosses to give them to China?" He started to plead, something that he had never done…not even almost one hundred years. His voice started to weaken. "You know I don't need those islands."

"You just want to wound me again, Japan!" The dark-haired nation visibly flinched at the coldness in China's voice. "You don't care about me! You never have!" His voice became a whisper. "Even when I found you in the bamboo grove as a tiny baby, you never acknowledged me for who I am." His eyes squeezed shut, and China started to cry, the tears trailing down his cheeks. "You gave me the scar on my back! It still hurts!" The tears ran furiously as the anger grew. "Our family is better off without you, Japan! I wish America would have killed you back then!"

For a moment, Japan could only stare at the panting China and scowling Taiwan and South Korea. He felt so cold, colder than he had been the hardest days of the war. At the mention of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the burns started to flame, but Japan was only conscious of the stillness of his heart and of his growing erratic breath. _He should have….killed me, _Japan thought dully as agony started to rip through him. He didn't even notice China walking out of his house, or of South Korea and Taiwan leaving the room. The formerly calm and collected nation was starting to break. Agonized memories bombarded his mind, making him tremble.

_I…_ Japan thought of nothing as he watched the moon shine outside. He had a faint memory of him and China talking. _I… _Japan could only remember what was said to him. His eyes closed sharply, trying to block the pain.

For the first time in his life of a nation, Japan started to cry.

* * *

_Jyūnigatsu jyūsan nichi _\- December 13 (Japanese)

_Sibiwol Sipsam - _December 13 (Korean)

_Shí èr yuè __shísān hào _\- December 13 (Chinese)


	3. Memory III

England often slept without dreams. Often enough, it came to his responsibility to comfort Northern Ireland, who was plagued with nightmares and recollections of the chaos that had plagued her country since she was born. _"England!" _He remembered her crying out to him, her face pale with blood and tears running down her cheeks. _"England, please! Make the stop!" _Blood had started to pool from a wound from her abdomen, soaking the traditional Irish dress that England had given to her to wear when she had been born. _"Please…" _Her blue eyes pooled in sorrow. _"Big brother…please." _The day of the heaviest violence in Northern Ireland was the only time when she had called him big brother. Even as a toddler only wearing ragged clothes stained red from the strife that she had been born to somehow understood that England didn't like being called big brother.

England still remembered her giving her that dress on that day in late spring shortly after her birth, her plump face becoming a smile when he put it on her gently. She still wore the dress, despite the mockery and bullying her brothers gave her, especially Ireland. _"Why do you still wear it, Northern Ireland?" _England had asked her after a disastrous meeting with Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. The fights had gone too far that day, calling Northern Ireland _"a traitor to the cause" _among others, including even _"England's bitch." _The young nation had simply looked at him and suddenly smiled at him. _"I won't ever not wear it England," _she told him quietly with strength that England had only seen once. _"I will always wear it because…you're important to me." _England couldn't sleep that night, and he spent most of his insomnia recalling the memories he had of his youngest sibling.

Now as he looked into the blank space of the darkened room, England thought about the situation that had occurred with his brothers. Many times the brothers had stated words that they regretted later, resulting in added wounds to the scars with physical ones. _"Ancient Rome should have killed you!" _A statement such as that hadn't been stated before, one of the de facto rules that the brothers had agreed on. Their mother, their beloved Britannia, had been mentioned in such a way England had been beyond the emotion of tears.

It appeared that his brothers wanted him dead. _I guess…they've finally caught on, _England thought as his thoughts became more morose. India refused to speak with him whenever they met at World Meetings, and China called him "Opium" still. Although once having the vastest empire in the world, England understood that most of his former colonies still haven't forgiven him for his actions in the past. America had grown stiff when England had criticized his actions in the Middle East.

Although the conversation had been spoken almost four decades ago, England remembered the tear in his heart of how America had responded with such anger and resentment. _"How is what I'm doing different from you did to me, England?"_ England didn't respond despite the cautious and concerned glances by the other nations. Unlike that time now, England couldn't ease his mind by embroidery. He had told himself that America often had uncontrollable bouts of anger from the amount of violence in his country and of the political bullshit he dealt with every two to four years. That didn't stop a new scar from forming, however.

Ironically, even with the rubbish of the peace of the twenty-first century, England felt more alone than ever. France was the only one that truly visited him, often speaking in his frog tongue and _flirting_ with him, it often ended with England furiously screaming obscenities at him and the Frenchman laughing across the goddamn Channel. _The only closest to a friend I have…and it has to be the perverted frog. _England remembered of how many times France had tried to comfort him whenever any of his country's became independent, each of the colonies departing with sharp words and resentment. The latest had been when Ireland had separated from their house in 2024, the prideful flags of the Welsh people waving as their national anthem was sung. England had been too bitter and his body too built up holding the sorrow to even care that tears were trailing down his cheeks and France's arm was on his shoulder. When Scotland had declared independence earlier that year, England had been numb to the fact that America was celebrating for the freedom that Scotland had gained, his Revolutionary uniform bright blue against the snow. A jolt had shaken him when America had suddenly pulled his arm around him and told him that he and Scotland were now best friends. _"After all, alike minds think alike, don't they? The tyranny is over!" _England supposed his former colony didn't see him stumbling among the celebrating people as his heart, again, drowned in the sorrow leaking from his mind.

England sighed again and broke his thoughts from the memories. His emerald eyes searched the room, smiling inside at the numerous pictures from memory. Paintings of the English countryside and people that he had met throughout his history were against every wall. A large library, where he had taught numerous countries how to read and write, was across from his bedroom. Northern Ireland slept in the room across from it. In the office that he mostly worked in throughout the days and especially before another chaotic World Meeting had many documents neatly stacked and into piles. A framed picture of the only boss that he had truly loved was the first thing he saw every time he first opened the door. "Help me, Bess." England whispered as he thought of the beloved – _his _beloved – English queen. "I don't know what to do." He held his head in his hands, his blond hair soft against his fingers. "Am I…truly what they say I am?"

There was no response. England licked his lips, attempting to hold the emotions at bay as he closed his eyes. Suddenly, he thought he heard a voice.

"Like what, my dear?"

England inwardly started at the sound, his eyes immediately narrowing when he turned on his light and couldn't see nothing. _Northern Ireland is asleep…so who it is that is making that noise? It wouldn't be the frog, as he would speak in his perverted tongue…and America wouldn't say that either. He has an intelligence of a teaspoon, so he wouldn't say something so elegant or …refined. _As England thought, he became unaware of a person coming up behind him. England blanched at the thought that suddenly came to him. He thought about the voice again and what was said. _It sounds like…me. _Before anything could be said however, England felt a tight hand around his neck and _something _pressed against his mouth.

Before he could even scream, everything went black.

* * *

Japan could only stare at the character that he had somehow created. The nation had been unable to sleep again. It wasn't uncommon for such an old nation like himself. Similar to humans, the older they become, the less they sleep. There were times when Japan couldn't sleep from the horrid memories of his past, particularly the war that caused him to sit outside and stare at the sky. Today was one of those nights. Sometimes too Japan writing kanji whenever those nights happened, and somehow he found himself staring at the kanji before him. _"Kyōdai," _he whispered. _Siblings. _Japan thought about that word for a moment.

At one moment of time he had many siblings. At one time he had adored China as an older brother. _"Oniichan!" A young Japan called to the taller older nation as China started to walk to his house, actually running towards him despite the shouts from his bosses. "Okearinasai, oniichan!" China had crouched down to Japan's height and smiled, stroking his hair fondly. _Japan still remembered the words that China had spoken to him despite that moment being over one thousand years ago. He remembered of the time when China had introduced him to both of the Koreas, now separated for over eighty years. _"It's your fault the Korean War happened!" _They had all been shy, with Japan trying to run to China for comfort despite his boss' tight grip on his kimono. It was the future South Korea that had spoken first, smiling in contrast to the heartbroken expression that had echoed on his face that night. What happened to that bond?

Japan knew that there were times when words could not heal wounds. He had wounded all of his siblings deeply, almost beyond repair. _History is only a breath away, _Japan thought solemnly. Although the conversations with China and South Korea had not changed since the end of the war, it hurt Japan that they believed him to be in the same manner of his bosses. He couldn't. The stain of the war was still deep and ingrained in his memory. _"You are a kind nation, Japan-san. I can see it in your eyes, and I know that your siblings will see that as well someday." Akihito-san… _Although his face had been a mask of emotionless when Emperor Heisei had died, Japan had in fact been devastated.

Most bosses, whether emperor or prime minister, had not cared for their nation as much as Akihito-_san _did. Japan had known him as a child, and remembered of the hug that had been one of the only fleeting peace that he felt from the child that would one day inherit the throne. He treated the nation as if he understood the pain that Japan was going through. That something even many nations could not do. Japan still visited his grave every chance he could despite the twelve years since his death, and he wondered briefly what he would think about the current situation with China and South Korea.

_They do not want me to exist. _Japan swallowed, thinking about the conversation that they had that night. _They want me to die for something that still echoes in the past… _Japan softly touched his cheeks, as if remembering the feeling of the tears falling down his face. Even in his darkest moments as a nation, he didn't cry. The knowledge that the four people that had once been close to him wanted him to cease to exist broke him. As the Asian nation continued to stare at the sky, he suddenly became aware of how cold it was. His feet and hands were as cold as ice that shielded the grass from the snow in the winter months. Stiffly Japan stood and picked up the rice paper with the ink brush that he had brought. His back was turned when suddenly he felt a familiar weapon piercing through his back. Japan was still as he felt the pain coursing through his body as his mouth slightly opened in agony as blood started to seep from the wound. He dropped both items from his hand. Japan gulped as the katana cut deeper through his back and as the pain continued to increase.

"_Dare desu ka?" _Japan whispered, feeling the pain's effect on his voice as it shook. The question was met with silence, but the wounded nation suddenly felt himself being pulled to the opposite side. Japan's eyes widened impossibly wide. _Iie… _Japan thought as the color drained from his face. _Iie... _The emotionless eyes and the dark hair. The red eyes… Japan felt a tremor shook through him. _Masaka… _he pleaded. _Masaka… _The nation couldn't even react from shock when he felt an exploding pain through his skull as he fell into his unconsciousness.


	4. Memory IV

Bleary and unfocused green eyes opened in the lightless room. England groaned, the act of even opening his eyes causing pain to erupt in his head. The nation could only close his eyes in vain, hoping that the dull agony sharp against his skull would disappear. Slowly, England began to open his eyes again. He couldn't see anything. The darkness surrounding him was omnipotent. Gradually he began to be aware of the tightness around his legs and hands, and of the wood sharp against his skin. _I've been kidnapped, haven't I? _England let out a weary sigh. It had been attempted many times to kidnap a nation, especially in times war.

Kidnapping a nation almost absolutely determined the outcome for the war, as if you killed a nation enough times, it would cause the land and the people to collapse around them as the nation lied dead across their feet. Although all nations knew of their predicament – and advantage – of this knowledge, no one had used it. Even England's brothers had not done this in the bloodiest years of the wars that they had. _Although…there was the one time with Italy, but that was only to stop Germany from waging anymore war, _England thought as he remembered of the carefree Italy in the Allies' hands and a furious Germany storming the base to rescue his ally. Needless to say, the plan didn't work._ Some bollocks idea that was. _England tried to untie the knots using the skills he had obtained as a pirate, but the goddamn rope was too tight. Every time he moved it cut deeper into his skin. His legs were equally immobile.

"Hey, you bloody bastards!" He screamed at the wall. After many minutes of trying to get free and only achieving cuts along his wrists and blood dripping across his hands, England was starting to get pissed. "When the bloody hell am I going to be able to be the shit out of you? You can't just bloody kidnap me!" England continued to yell. "My bloody government will –"

"You truly shouldn't use such language, dear."

England sharply turned from the wall to wherever that voice was, causing another spurt of blood to leak out of his cuts. He couldn't see anyone. England frowned. Suddenly a light clicked on, and England squeezed his eyes tightly shut from the occurring pain as a hiss escaped from his mouth. Squinting his eyes open again, England was only able to recognize the dark stone that had once been used centuries ago when he was a younger nation. Everything else was blank. England suddenly became aware of fingers holding his chin. Inwardly he gasped from the contact, swear words coming to mind as the person in front of him continued putting his fingers across his skin. His words choked in his mind though when he saw the face.

It was a face eerily similar to his own. England could only swallow as he noted the same hair and the same eyes that this person had with him. Even his eyebrows were the same. Looking at him closer however, England found that there were subtle differences. His eyes were green yes, but there was a slight pinkish hue to them. He was also wearing something that even France or even Poland wouldn't wear. A light blue bowtie contrasted with the purple vest that he wore, and his hair was_ slightly_ less askew. Thinking about his hair made England remember angrily of what France had once told him about his hair. _"You have such disgusting hair, Anglettere! Nothing compared to moi!"_

"Who the bloody hell are you?" England snapped angrily. Strangely enough, his counterpart smiled.

"You shouldn't use such language, love." Even his voice reminded England of his own, only it was smoother and higher in octave. "It's unbecoming of a gentleman such as yourself." England glared. _Why the hell is this idiot calling himself a gentleman? No gentleman would simply _kidnap _someone! _England's frowned deepened as he stared at his…prisoner. _Who is this arsehole? _"Before you ask the question my love, I am you." A giggle escaped from him.

England stared to laugh until it reached a point until it echoed across the walls. "How…could you be me?" he gasped. The nation laughed again at the other's crestfallen expression. "How could such a bloody wanker wearing _purple _be me?" England's laughter stopped in his throat as he witnessed a change within the person standing in front of him. His eyes suddenly swirled in pink, and his formerly smiling expression became one of rage.

"I _am _you, England." His tone was now cold, his fists by his sides. "And you should treat me with proper respect as the personification of the Great British Isles." Suddenly his hands cupped England's chin again and began to squeeze hard. "Understand?" England could only force himself to look in his counterpart's swirling pink eyes as the grip on his chin became painful. The voice echoed in his mind again, and he realized that it was the same voice that had spoken to him shortly before being kidnapped that was the same voice belonging to the person staring at him now. England nodded.

"Good," the person said again, a sudden carefree look to appear on his face again. England inwardly blanched. _Is he insane? _"How ungentlemanly of me to not introduce myself." He bowed slightly to the captured nation. "My name is Oliver Kirkland." His green eyes complete with a light hue of pink stared in England's own. "And you, my love?"

"Why should I bloody tell you if you already know who I am?"

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in England's throat as hands started to squeeze. Shocked emerald orbs stared as the pink swirls started to move faster and faster.

"No swearing, please." He stated softly. His hands started to squeeze harder, and England found his oxygen to start to deplete. His eyes widened, and he weakly tried to thrash as his eyesight started to only being able to focus on the pink swirls. "No using that terrible language of yours…or I will have to kill you." England slowly found himself looker deeper and deeper into those eyes as his breath started to stop from his chest. "It truly…devastates me when someone says those kinds of things." Without warning the hands dropped from England's throat, and the English nation found himself coughing violently and gasping heavily as he started to regain his consciousness back.

"Do you know why you are here, England?" The nation frantically shook his head.

Oliver's face suddenly came dangerously close to his own. He smiled, an eerie smile that suddenly caused fear to pool in England's stomach. His lips became dangerously close to England's ear, and England could taste the sweetness of it as he whispered.

"For your sins."

"…Sins?" England repeated dully. His throat cracked, and his voice was barely above a whisper from the near choking he had received. "What sins?"

This time, Oliver did not react in rage. Instead, he continued to smile. England started to break out in cold sweat as the minutes passed by when Oliver continued to say nothing. Suddenly England felt something sharp against his neck. A knife, small and no bigger than his hand, lied against his skin.

"Don't you remember, Arthur?" Oliver purred as he began to apply more pressure. "Don't your remember Wales, your dearest brother? Or perhaps of how you plundered the seas without thought of the local inhabitants?" Blood started to trickle onto the knife. "Of the wars….of India and Burma? Of how you destroyed them?" England was still as he felt his blood drip down onto the floor, hearing the eerie sound echo in his ears. "The massacres and colonies that you said you loved? Jean D'Arc?" England's breath caught in his throat as the knife went in deeper, feeling his flesh cry out in pain as blood continued to fall onto the ground. "Of your precious America…and perhaps even France?"

England started to tremble at the sound of that name. He tried to speak, but the only response was the smile of Oliver before him and the blood against the knife. Suddenly the knife was pulled away, and Oliver looked at him strangely as England began to pale. Behind Oliver, when he moved, were more knives and other instruments that England had thought he had forgotten. _Oh god… _England thought as Oliver began to smile, sweeter somehow, at the sight. _Oh god…_

"And now it begins, Arthur."

* * *

Japan stood silently as a familiar shape stood in front of him. _I hoped this day would never come… _the Asian nation thought as Kuro stood blankly in front of him. His eyes were always the same. Red and concealing. Much like his own, and yet unlike his own. Japan didn't say a word as Kuro continued to glance around the room in disinterest. They had met before, only in dreams. During the time when former allies had been enemies, Japan used to hear Kuro all the time. Telling him things. There were times when Japan truly thought he was being controlled, as the whispers of darkness continued to increase.

Then it only appeared again in nightmares, the voice echoing the demons of the past. Something that Japan came to realize that would never go away. It was around that time when he realized that Koru was simply the deepest darkness within him, influencing him and at times controlling him. All nations had done atrocities and unspeakable actions during their history. There were times though when a nation, knowing of what they had done, simply channeled their memories and thoughts into another entity. A parallel nation was born when the first atrocity made by their counterpart was committed, knowing only the darkness and despair of that country, knowing neither peace nor light. The parallel nation only lived when the other nation lived. That was what Kuro told him, anyway. The whispers made by them leaked into their minds without even realizing it, making the counterpart nation influenced by the parallel. No one knew of this because none of the nations had ever met their parallel, in dreams or in reality. Now Japan was standing in front of his parallel for the first time.

"Why did you kidnap me, Kuro?" Japan asked carefully, determined to not allow his anger to leak from his voice. Kuro looked at him with his red eyes.

"I note you did not call me with a suffix, Japan."

"That is because I have no respect for you," Japan stated, dangerously calm as he stared at his counterpart. "You are something from the past that does not feed me anymore."

Kuro's voice held no emotion as he spoke. "Ming-Li wants me to torture you." Japan's face paled. "As does Hyun-soo. I hope you understand."

"I…don't understand." Japan whispered. His mask was starting to crack, as was his voice. "Why…do they want this?"

As Japan's face started to crumble in despair and his eyes started to widen, Kuro started to raise his katana as he finished speaking. "Do you want me to hurt you again, Japan?" The wound that Kuro had given him had healed, but even so Japan self-consciously touched where the wound had been. As Japan's breath became uneven, he remembered of the nightmares that had haunted him since the war had ended almost one hundred years ago. I…can't do it again. Japan thought. I…can't. China's and Korea's counterparts were receiving more and more thoughts from the nations Japan once knew as his siblings. According to Kuro, they were threatening to kill _him _if he didn't do something about the situation. _"You will relive all your pain, Japan. All the agony. All the suffering. You will relieve your worst memories. Nothing…will be forgotten." _Japan would be tortured until he remembered the sins of his history, and would apologize for the war that he desperately – in his heart – wanted to forget.

"Please…" Japan pleaded. "There must be another way."

Kuro put his katana on Japan's shoulder, cutting through his kimono. "There is no other way." He noted the growing apprehension in Japan's eyes. "I will not kill you, although both counterparts would like that, wouldn't they? Your people will not suffer, Japan. Although…they are the same people as you are, people who refuse to see the past that is before their eyes. Not caring about the pain their nation has caused."

Anger that Japan had never experienced before overcame him as he attempted to land a blow on Kuro. His formerly apprehensive eyes turned to rage before Kuro slashed him with his sword. The blood was as dark as his eyes as he watched his weak counterpart fall into unconsciousness as the wound from his chest continued to flow.

"What a failure of a samurai you are," Kuro whispered. "Attacking me without weapon of you own…although you_ have_ done something similar before." He crouched down to an unconscious Japan and picked him up with his hair. "Isn't that right…Kiku?


	5. Memory V

"Never fear! The hero is here!"

France sighed at the unmistakable obnoxiousness of the American personification strutting into the World Meeting. The blond Frenchman eyed beyond the door, hoping to see his beloved _Anglettere_, but the grumpy Englishman was nowhere in sight. _Where could _mon Anglettere _be? _France wondered half-dramatically as he set his beautiful gorgeous hair onto the disgusting table. All for dramatic effect of course. Not that he was worried about the insufferable Englishman.

_"Amerique," _France intoned. America looked at him curiously, the glasses slightly glinting in the sun as he stared at the older nation. "Some nations would prefer _quiet _when a World Meeting starts." With his usual romantic flair, France pointed to a frustrated Germany, who was desperately and failing to calm a hyperactive Italy stop talking about pasta…and sleeping in the same bed? A perverted smile grew across France's face as he now ignored _Amerique_ for some juicy information on what was going on in Germany's bedroom. _It's no wonder that he's so uptight all the time. He needs to spread _l'amour_, and I will be very happy to advise him on the sensual and beautiful art. _Unfortunately, France's thought were interrupted by a very strong punch to the head.

"My _Anglettere, _why must you –?" France's voice stopped when he saw that it was not _Anglettere _that had hit him as usual, but Switzerland. The rifle-carrying blond had a faint blush across his cheeks.

"Keep your mind out of the gutter, France." The Swiss' eyes narrowed at the innocent expression France had across his face. "You're upsetting my sister." France glanced at the tiny Lichtenstein, who was trembling out of fear at the normal rowdiness of the meeting.

"It looks like to me that she is more afraid of South Korea grabbing China's breasts," France stated as he watched the two Asian nations chase each other around the room in fascination. "You weren't watching, were you?" A sly smile appeared on his face as Switzerland started to splutter. _Ah, he is new in the art of _l'amour_, _France thought as he witnessed South Korea trying to grab China's breasts _again_. France absentmindedly wondered of what China would look like without any clothes at all, and a blissful look appeared on his face. Although he would feverishly deny it, France often found his fantasies including his _cher Anglettere_. _Why is that, I wonder? _

France looked back at the door again, but no foul-mouthed Englishman sporting disgusting eyebrows appeared. _It is rather odd, _France thought now that he looked around them – without glancing at certain parts of course – that two nations were absent. For sure, Prussia often arrived ridiculously late without often supporting pants with a furious Hungary trying to bash his head with her frying pan, but _Anglettere _and Japan were always the first one to arrive.

_Especially since it is his city that the Englishman is so proud of. He normally is very proud of London, and will usually ask each of us to sight see the dreary and depressing city before we leave…unlike a certain American who practically _drags _us to everything in New York City or Boston. _France sniffed at the memory of the undignified and unromantic cities that somehow _Amerique _was so proud of. _And then he stuffs himself with hamburgers and falls asleep before the meeting even begins. _His smile faded at another memory. _And he upsets _Anglettere _whenever he mentions the Boston Massacre. _

"Where in the fucking hell is the tea bastard?" France turned to find a furious Romano sitting in his seat with a red face as he looked around the room. "He's fucking late, and this is _his _goddamn city!"

_"Fratello," _Italy whined while trying desperately to calm down his southern counterpart. "You shouldn't swear so much. It's not healthy. Besides," the northern Italian brightened, "England is our friend now!"

"Shut up," Romano grumbled. "I can fucking swear how much I want." The darker Italian crossed his arms and frowned. "Wherever can I go to find some good pasta here?" His nose wrinkled. "England's people suck."

France heard Germany audibly sigh as Italy began cries of _"Pasta!" _as he tried to gain control of the World Meeting. As always, it didn't work. _Amerique _was currently laughing at the antics of Prussia, who was this time being chased around by Hungary _and _Austria. China had now built a miniature Wall in order to fend of South Korea, shouting at him to not touch his "islands" as the other Asian nations watched emotionlessly at their family's antics. Vietnam in particular was not paying attention to the scene at all. Instead, she was looking at _Amerique _with undisguised disdain in her eyes. She was not the only one.

Many nations had gathered every month to discuss the world's ongoing problems – problems that their bosses didn't really care about. Often the nations would gather in the capitals of each of the nations' house – or in times of crisis they would settle for less extravagance and had meetings in the countryside. Sometimes, however, that did not help the tension in the room at all. France winced, remembering of how _Anglettere _and Ireland had a screaming match and almost beat each other to a pulp – although no less damaging than the fights that he had with the Englishman in the past centuries – during the time of the Welsh Referendum fourteen years ago in _Gaelic _no less. France thought that the emerald eyed nation had forgotten it. The problem was, each and every nation usually had issues with one another no matter how many centuries had passed. In many cases. Some nations, especially former colonies, did not even associate between their former parental figures.

Poor _Anglettere _took it so hard. Other nations simply were resentful and often hated other nations for actions they had done in the past. France remembered of the many times when he had consoled the Englishman whenever one of his colonies gained independence. Even though his colonies wouldn't believe it, _Anglettere _had loved them, no matter what history said. France could see Iraq glaring at _Amerique_ as well, his brown eyes not concealing the violent wish he wanted upon the American. It had been over thirty years since Iraq had been invaded by the young superpower"to be the hero" and a disgruntled Englishman. France still remembered of what _Anglettere _had told him before he had left with his military on that March day. _"I don't bloody want this, France. I have to. My people need me." _

Even now France wondered why _Anglettere _sounded almost desperate for him to understand what he was doing. It surprised the European nation further that after the aftermath of the war that had left Iraq bloody and weak, his resentment of _Anglettere _had faded and they had started talking. Now it appeared his former resentment was aimed at _Amerique_. The robe-wearing Middle Eastern nation was as far away from _Amerique_ as possible. _Poor Ukraine, _France thought as he stared at the battered nation sitting by his friend Spain. _She has yet to recover from the war that almost tore her apart. _She and Russia were not still on speaking terms, and sometimes Ukraine broke into bouts of crying during a meeting. _It's only been thirteen years since the disastrous war ended, so…_

_"Nihon wa doko desu ka?" _France looked in surprise as he saw Greece half-sitting with his eyes open as he petted one of his cats. _All that fur, _France thought in aversion, _what it must do to his clothes! _His _Anglettere _would mock him if he had said such thought out loud, but the Englishman was nowhere to be seen.

"We don't speak fucking Japanese, cat bastard!" Romano yelled. He started to stand, ignoring Spain's remarks that he looked like a _"tomate peque__ño__" _and paced around the room. "Hey, kraut!" France averted his eyes from Germany at the racial slur. "Do you know where your former fucking ally is, because I'm getting _really _pissed off!"

"But…_Nihon_…" Greece tried to say before the nation was cut off.

"Japan isn't here?" For a brief moment _Amerique _appeared concerned before breaking into a smile and laughing. "Awesome! The old man Iggy always tell off my _great _ideas anyway even though he denies the fact that he's only an extension of myself! _Everyone _confuses Iggy's old-fashioned place with _my_ place! And he's not a hero like I am!" As the American continued to laugh, France could see the other nations sweat-drop. _Your idea of a good idea is curing Ebola through the hamburgers… _

"Really, Fredka?" Russia smiled from across the room, and France could feel the murderous rage emerging from him. "Why do you call yourself a hero when you –"

"Stay away from me, commie!" _Amerique _screamed. For once "the hero" looked frightened and backed away into the chair across from Canada. "Why do you call me that disgusting nickname, anyway? It's probably something creepy like you!" For a moment France thought he saw a sad look filter across Russia's face before he began smiling again.

"Everybody, shut up!" Germany roared. The light blond haired personification was grinding his teeth, and a vein was starting to pop in his forehead. "We will deal with the absence of Japan and England at another time!" Germany marched to the front of the circled table and looked at them critically. "For now, we will –"

At that moment the door banged open. France and the other nations looked in surprise that it was not _Anglettere _– although he would deny doing such an "ungentlemanly act" – or Japan, but rather a girl with dark brown hair and blue eyes. France recognized her immediately with her traditional Irish dress. As he looked closer at the younger nation, France was stunned to find tears running down her cheeks. The bonnet in her hair was slightly askew, and she was panting hard as her red-rimmed eyes circled around the room. Immediately Northern Ireland started walking towards Germany, her footsteps stiff as if she was controlling herself not to run. France forced himself not to worry as Germany's eyes widened and a grim expression appeared on his face as Northern Ireland continued to cry fresh tears.

"Everyone," Germany voiced grimly beside the youngest member of the British Isles, "our fellow nation Northern Ireland has told me that England is missing. He has not been seen in over twenty-four hours, and his cell phone was left in his house. This," he sighed, "calls for an emergency."

"_Verdammt it," _he whispered.

* * *

_Anglettere _\- England (French)

_Amerique _\- America (French)

_Mon Anglettere_ \- my England (French)

_Cher_ \- dear (French)

_L'amour - _love (French)

_Fratello _\- brother (Italian)

_Nihon - _Japan (Japanese)

_Nihon wa doko desu ka? - _Where is Japan? (Japanese)

_Tomate peque__ño _\- Small tomato (Spanish)

_Verdammt it - _Goddamn it (German)


	6. Memory VI

_The warm summer wind caressed his face. He could barely open his eyes, and yet the warm sun was slightly pleasing to his damaged, destroyed body. Heaving a great sigh, Japan squeezed his eyes open and stared blankly as his boss kneeled beside him. Japan had come to know this room very well since he had been losing the war. Losing. Before the thought of surrendering to an enemy would make the nation tremble in shame and want to fight until his very last breath, blood new and old on his katana as he ran forward to honor his people in their death. Now however, he was past caring. _

_The nation known as Japan wanted the pain to stop. The numbing, excruciating and agonizing pain as it tore through his limbs. There were times when he was only able to lay in the _futon _weak and unable to speak as the scars of the war inflamed inside. Japan stared at his boss, seeing his face grim as he stared at his wounded nation. His bespectacled face held worry and grief that Japan knew he had. Japan remembered of how he had collapsed in the middle of the night with a meeting with the said boss, waking to find a cool washcloth placed over his forehead as his breathing suddenly became difficult. His body burned, and screams almost tore at his throat as the reality of the aftermath of the bombing registered in his mind. Tokyo had been bombed last night. Now as Japan lay in the _futon _as his boss stared into the depths of his mind, Japan spoke._

_ "No more," he rasped. Although his voice had been like this for the past two years, it still surprised to find that the once calm and collected voice gone, and another broken one remained in its stead. His boss looked at him then, a sad smile framing his face. Japan knew that look. It was a look of resignation; a look of one accepting his or her fate. _They have been talking with him then, _Japan thought as sharp claws on pain started to gather in his back. _They do not want to surrender. _A sharp hiss almost escaped from him as another scar throbbed. Japan attempted to move but could not to. His body was too damaged from the bombings that the Allies had done to him. Blood had been his companion since the war had begun. At first, it was only a small spot and healed in minutes. _

_Now waves of agony often overcame him as blood leaked from his wounds, staining his kimono. It didn't matter how many times an exhausted Japan would try to remove the stains as the blood finally stopped. The red stains would never come out. "No more," he whispered, almost pleading as he thought about the peaceful days of when he would simply sit outside under the shade of the tree and watch the _sakura _falling from the trees. His people had not been dying. Not then. Japan stiffened at the thought of seeing the bodies of the dead, burned to almost nonexistence and children crying for their lost families. _"Onegai shimasu," _he whispered as his voice was lost in his deep breathing. His boss looked at him, his eyes somber as he watched his nation plead. _"Watashi wa…" _Suddenly time seemed to stop. Japan didn't speak. His face was a mask of horror._

_ Then it came. It waves of agony, in streams of pain and knowing nothing but of the _burning and people dying _as it became his entire being. As it expanded throughout him, Japan could feel everyone one of his citizens dying, their screams, and their existence fading away. He started to scream. Against the agony that continued to grow and destroy him, Japan could see his boss trying to shake him, speaking to him – then shouting and screaming – in frantic Japanese. The words didn't seem to make sense in Japan's broken mind. When his boss tried to touch him, the nation responded with a scream that sounded higher and more desperate as he became aware of nothing but of the heat and the pain. Japan was still screaming as he saw his boss running away to find out what had happened as Japan's consciousness finally faded away…_

Japan gasped harshly as he was brought back to his consciousness. His breathing didn't slow as he looked around where he was. The Asian nation was in a traditional Japanese room, the shoji screens bearing cranes in flight as _sakura _blossoms dotted the peaceful scenery. Japan's breathing slightly slowed at the sight, the familiar scene calming him as he swallow what he had just witnessed. It had been a memory. On the day ninety-three years ago, Japan had been bombed at Hiroshima. The agony that had caused him to scream and collapse from the sheer pain remained in his mind. He had been told that as he had lied unconscious, screams and cries of pain had escaped from him. The bomb had caused another scar to form, a scar that burned into his flesh and one that America-_san _never looked at. The pain was as real as it had been that day, the agony running through his veins as the screams of his people and their deaths burned in his mind. Japan shuddered, the horror in his mind still as Kuro walked inside.

Japan didn't respond. He had awakened in this very room, conscious now as his sword wound had healed. His hands and feet were bound by wire as he sat in the lone chair in the room. Japan tried to glance at his counterpart, but his counterpart simply ignored him for a moment, glancing at the scenes around him before focusing on Japan again. His emotionless red eyes bored into Japan's own, as if searching. For a moment, Japan allowed himself to look more closely at his counterpart as a disdainful look appeared on Kuro's face. Unlike his own naval white uniform that he wore, Koru's was black and smelled of blood. He wore two_ katanas_ at his hip, referencing the days of the Ōnin and Sengoku Wars. As Japan continued to observe, he slightly flinched when Koru crouched down near him.

"It has been not even one hundred years since that American has bombed you," he stated slowly. "And yet are friends with him." Japan visibly gulped, remembering of how coldly angered Koru could become at times. _"Allies," _he hissed as if it was a word not to be used. "And yet your mind did not break as I thought would when I reminded you of that day." He moved slightly, his face not towards Japan any longer as an uncertain emotion set in. "You do remember it, though. The pain. The agony." Now his eyes turned to Japan's again, and the fury inside them shocked Japan. "The deaths of those you could not save. _Ne,_ Kiku?"

Japan slightly started at the sound of his human name. No nation had used it in the centuries that he had existed. Not even America-_san _had called him by his human name, although they had been allies almost a century. No one except…

"You have no right to call me that, Kuro." Coldness escaped his voice, and Koru remained silent as Japan stared at him.

"I do have a right, Kiku." Koru eased the katana out of its scabbard, seeing his own reflection as he stared at the weapon that had ended the lives of many deplorable human beings. "I _am_ you. I am your darkness, your hate, the life that you had lived during the war. I am your _memory._" A soft song of the katana rose into the air as the blade pointed in between Japan's eyes. The nation didn't flinch. Koru's breath eased as the blade came closer and closer to Japan's face. "I am everything that you have forgotten…including the memories that are deep buried inside your heart." For a moment none of them moved. Then Koru sheathed his sword into his scabbard again and closed his eyes. "I do think you have dwelled enough inside the memories Kiku." He paused, unconcerned at the deepening horror on his counterparts face as he eased his hand on the other's forehead. "I do not think you have experienced the amount of pain you need in order to realize what you have done."

"_Iie!" _Japan cried. _"Iie, yamete kudasai! _Kuro –"

_The fires had spread. Japan was lying in a pool of his own blood as he felt every moment of his citizens' deaths. He had been writing a letter to England-_san _when the earthquake had happened. Fires had engulfed the city of Tokyo, spreading through the homes of many of his people. Killing them as they burned, as they choked on the smoke that destroyed that destroyed their lungs, and melting their skin off of their faces. One of the hard parts about being a nation was that with every death of your citizen, you _feel _of how they died. As such, Japan's mind had almost collapsed from the amount of burning around his body and of the loss of air. When a nation is young, any single death is difficult to handle. But as a nation grows and matures, the deaths steadily only become a moment of hurt…that is if no one dies at once. Japan was continuously lying in his own blood as Pochi continued whine and bark. The sound was almost too much for the Japanese nation, and was about to ask weakly for Pochi to stop barking when the main shoji screen to his house slammed open._

"Ibon!" _Japan warily looked up and could see Korea shaking with rage as his hanbok slightly rose in the air as the fellow nation raged up the steps to the main room. _Not even pausing to remove his shoes, _Japan thought as he weakly sat up to face the Korean nation. The formerly warm brown eyes of the southern half of Korea were dark and unforgiving as he stared at the bleeding Japan. "How could you do this to me?" The shout almost made Japan flinch and he didn't speak as Korea continued to yell "How could you kill my people _again _after less than five years, Japan?" Japan's dark brown eyes widened. In the two days that he had been bombarded with agony and fire in his lungs, he had yet to understand what had happened. He tried to ask what had occurred that had upset Korea so much, but his words were silent to the other Asian nation. "All dead! 6,000 of them murdered because of _your _people, spreading rumors and lies!" _

_Tears were now trailing down the Korean's cheeks, in stark contrast to the red marks of rage he had on his face. "Lies, that _your _people started! My people didn't do anything, _Ibon!_" Japan now could see blood against the navy blue and white hanbok, the long sleeves also smeared with dried blood. The sight of the Korean before the darker haired nation reminded him of another time, not so long ago, when he had wailed into the sky as he held his dead citizens in his arms. Now it was Japan who was weak, bleeding and wounded before his former brother. "I still remember when you came to my house and stopped the so-called _rebellion_!" At the word used by the weak man a mere four years ago, an uncharacteristic sneer appeared on Korea's face. "My people are mocked here every day, treated lower than dirt, their history and culture denied to them _because _of you!" Suddenly the shouting stopped and Korea stilled. Japan, although showing no emotion before his brother, was shaken by what he had said. He found it hard to swallow, and was that pain in his chest? For a moment Japan tried to speak but couldn't. Then his composure shattered at Korea's next words._

"_I'm glad they're dead, _Ibon_! I'm happy that 140,000 of your imperialistic people are dead! In fact, more should have – "_

_Slap! Korea stood in stunned silence as Japan took his hand away. A dark red mark remained where Japan's hand had been. The Japanese nation was breathing hard, unaware that blood was dripping onto the _tatami mats_ as he stood in front of his colony. It almost seemed to the nation that Korea actually shuddered before him._

"_Do not say anything else that you would regret, Korea." Japan's voice was so cold that it felt as if cold water had dripped down Korea's back. His eyes were emotionless, as empty as they had been the day that he single-handedly killed Korea's own people before his eyes. "You are nothing but a colony. You do not speak. You do not think." The nation looked up at him, his face as cold as winter's night. "You only _exist _for me. Understand?" When Korea didn't respond, Japan yelled, "Do you understand me?" Korea numbly nodded. How was it possible that such a nation as him, the creator of everything – no matter what China said – would gravel on the knees of such a young nation? Korea's mood darkened, and he kicked the unsuspecting Pochi in the stomach, not hearing the dog yelp in pain, and Japan's worried gasp. _I hate you, _Korea thought as he exited the house overlooking the destroyed city. _I hate you so much…and someday I will make you suffer for what you did to me and our older brother.

_Japan's sudden coldness had disappeared when he had seen Pochi collapse from a vicious kick to the stomach. He had rushed over to the crying dog, soothing it through his soft hands. Japan's thoughts as he comforted the hurt Pochi revolved around what he had said. What had come over him? He always remained calm in any situation, no matter what that entailed. Why had he reacted that way to Korea? Japan's thoughts remained troubled that night as he watched Pochi sleep soundly by his _futon_, having the conversation with Korea over and over again in his mind as he slept. The next morning, he had forgotten the entire occurrence._

Japan was only aware of Kuro's cold hand lifting away from his head as the memory resurfaced. How he wanted to imagine it as an illusion. How the nation wanted to take the words back that he had said to his former brother and…colony. Japan's mouth became dry as the memory started to surface again. It had been real. The fight, the massacre that had occurred, and the cold words he had exchanged with Korea. Japan's stunned eyes met Kuro's, and he found his counterpart looking at him with a trace of pity in his gaze.

"You remember now?" Kuro asked as Japan steadily began to tremble. "You remember the words that you said to your _colony _that day?" He crouched down to the stunned nation. "I remember that memory very well. It came to me not long after you had fallen into a deep sleep where no dreams can follow." His breath suddenly became close to Japan's face, and his red eyes stared at his weak counterpart. "You couldn't swallow what you had done to the nation you once considered your _oniichan_, so you gave the memory to me. No wonder you not like becoming angry. It becomes too much for you, for you do actions that you have immense regret over." His face remained unmoved when Japan began to speak.

"I…I am sorry for what I had done." Japan's voice was thick, and he could feel his breath coming in uneven gasps. "I am sorry."

Kuro didn't respond. Instead, he placed another hand on Japan's forehead.

"Sorry doesn't make it right. Now...I want here you scream this time."

* * *

On September 1, 1923, a massive earthquake ruptured Tokyo and surrounding areas, killing 140,000 people. Fires broke out, also destroying most of the infrastructure. The media and officials spread rumors that the Korean immigrants in Japan caused those fires, prompting civilians, military officials, and others to massacre 6,000 Koreans. Four years beforehand on March 1, 1919, a national and nonviolent Korean uprising against Japanese colonial rule caused Japanese police to clash with the protestors, which about 7,000 people died.


	7. Memory VII

"Don't worry, he's probably pissed-out drunk somewhere in a ditch."

The voice belonged to Ireland, who was calmly observing the dissolving situation as if he had seen it all before.

France glanced at Ireland incredulously. For sure, the French nation had heard harsh words passed between _Angleterre_ and Ireland, but neither brother had mindlessly dismissed each other's welfare. Mon Dieu_, what happened last night? _France thought as Ireland continued to glare at other staring nations.

Germany was fuming. "I don't care about your petty spats, Ireland! This is a serious matter, and –"

Immediately after Germany started to speak, Northern Ireland began to shout in furious Gaelic, surprising the other nations on the fury in her eyes. Ireland's eyes became mere slits at the words directed at him. The physically teenage nation did not cower as he too shouted in her face.

"Man, Iggy has some _serious _family issues," Americawhispered. Or as quiet as he could make it. France inwardly sighed. _You are part of that family too, America, but you keep forgetting. _Just then, Ireland pounded his fist on the table and pointed his enraged face towards Northern Ireland.

"You're not part of this family, you insolent bastard!" he roared as the other nations outwardly gasped. "You're just his whore, so stay out of it!" Northern Ireland seemed to deflate. She bowed her head, and her shoulders shook. France didn't have to look at her to know that she was crying.

"Hey, leave Iggy's sister alone!" France inwardly cringed at the sight of Americaclasping the female nation's shoulder. "Because I'm the hero!" Northern Ireland almost subsequently pulled away, leaving the American nation confused and hurt. _She has heard _mon Angleterre's _cries, hasn't she? _France thought morosely as he stared at the young nation. Meanwhile, the other nations were panicking.

Italy was desperately trying to hold onto Germany while holding a white flag as the German unsuccessfully tried to pry him off as Romano was hiding behind a smiling Spain. The Baltics were shivering as Russia appeared behind them. The Nordics, on the other side of the room, were conversing quietly as the other nations appeared to shout and cry in fear and confusion. France could see the China, South Korea, and Taiwan, look concerned for a moment before their faces became emotionless masks. _Hmm… _France thought. _Interesting. _

"Everyone, be quiet!"

Surprisingly, it was not Germany that shouted for quiet, but France. The blond nation sighed as the nations calmed down and actually appeared to listen.

"Now, I know most of you know that I have known _Angleterre _for a very long time. As such, I know that…certain _things _can cause him to break down." France turned to Ireland. "Ireland, did something happen over the course of this month that would cause _Angleterre _to react in an extreme way?"

France thought he saw Ireland blink his eyes. "No."

"_Non?" _France inwardly sighed at the nation's stupidity. Did he not realize he knew about _Angleterre_'s pointless little meetings? He had complained to him the night before, after all. "Ireland, _Angleterre _suddenly disappears after a meeting with his older brothers which include you." His voice hardened as Ireland continued to not look at him. "Is it not a coincidence that _Angleterre _is missing today when he is the one hosting the World Meeting in his capital city?"

Ireland frowned. "How the hell do you know about our meetings?"

"I am the only one that can endure your brother's ranting and complaining for hours on end."

He waited. The other nations stared at France in shock. Most of them that had not seen him in war had never seen him this serious or _threatening_ before. They had only seen him as a flirt that tried to get into bed with as many nations – and humans, if the rumors were correct – as he could. Only the former enemies of France knew how serious and dangerous he could be if provoked. _Angleterre _was one of them. As the silence continued, France continued to feel burning anger in his stomach. _Does he truly not care about _Angleterre_? He is his _frère_! Certainly he must, no matter how deep the wounds are between them. _

"Scotland told him that…he should have died when Rome came," Ireland muttered. France stifled a gasp. In the centuries he had known _Angleterre _and his brothers, none had mentioned Rome in any of their fights. _Not even when all of them were at each other's throats!_ Other nations that had not known the Roman Empire stared in confusion. The others, especially those that were under his rule, glared at the Irish nation. _That is an insult like none other, _France thought as the Italian brothers appeared lost and uncertain what to say. "…And he stated that our mother…shouldn't have died for him."

It took only a moment for France to realize what had just been stated. "You _imb__ècile!_" France could see the nations recoil in shock at his furious expression and the rage seeping from him. He pulled Ireland's face dangerously close to his own. "Not only did you and your brothers come to gloat about Scotland's independence, but you had to mention Britannia! You know how sensitive _Angleterre _is, especially concerning his _maman_!" Ireland gulped, his eyes widening in fear as France continued to yell. "I thought you had better sense as an older brother, Ireland." France sighed, loosening his grip on the Irish nation as the other nations collectively sighed in relief.

The relief didn't last long.

"Why do you care about him so much?" Ireland screamed as his eyes became dark with anger. "He almost killed me, you stupid Frenchmen! Or have you forgotten, like you forgot your precious Joan D'Arc?"

"I have not forgotten, Ireland." France stated as his hands shook at the mention of the human woman that still haunted his dreams. "I have not forgotten what he did to _you_, either." His voice lowered dangerously. "And it's Jeanne, not Joan!" His blue eyes surveyed around the room. "Every one of us has committed atrocities, Ireland! Look at Germany –" at this, the French nation saw Prussia glare at him and Germany flinch. Was it his imagination, or did he see Italy inch closer towards his friend as his face became deathly pale? "– and Russia! Belgium massacred millions of people in Congo." At this, Belgium looked at France in confusion and hurt as the Netherlands glared at the French nation dangerously. "America killed Native America, and –"

"I don't mean to interrupt your cool rant, dude, but what the hell is a Native America?" France inwardly sighed at _Amérique_'s dumbfounded and steadily angered expression. _He doesn't remember, _the blond nation thought as the glare intensified. _Just like with _Espange. For some reason, the young nation was not able to remember Native America, or that fact that he had been the one to cause her death. The manner of confusion and hurt was also seen by _Espange, _who had indvidually massacred millions of natives before he had found the then-tiny Mexico and Chile, among others. There was a reason why some of the Latin American countries refused to see the European nation for centuries. He had killed their mother. _And Rome killed Britannia, _mon Angleterre's _mother. Which is why I am astounded that _he _would even say such a thing. _

"Where is Japan?" France's attention turned towards Greece, who was now actually standing and blinking his eyes in concern. "It's been twenty minutes since the meeting started, and he hasn't arrived."

Surprisingly, the Netherlands nodded in agreement. "He is right. Japan is too diligent to miss a moment of punctuality." As Greece stared at the Netherlands in suspicion, but before the dark-haired nation could say anything, Germany spoke.

"We will continue this discussion later!" the German growled as he pulled off the groveling Italy. "France and America!" The nations turned. "You will be coming with me to England's boss to explain the situation!" As America opened his mouth to whine, Germany pointed his finger at two of the Asian nations. "China and South Korea, I think it would be a good idea if you went to Japan's house to see if there was an earthquake of any kind."

"There hasn't been any earthquakes though," South Korea said cheerfully as he took bites of his kimchi. _What a disgusting dish, _France thought as he turned his head away. _Too spicy with no enough herbs! _"His house is next to mine, da-ze!"

France could see Germany almost sigh in frustration. "Just check up on him." He turned again to the two taller nations. "Come with me. The rest of you, stay here! We'll bring back as much information as we can acquire!"

France collided with Scotland as the unsuspecting nation stumbled onto the floor.

"How could you, Scotland?" France hissed. Germany stood by with his mouth in a thin line as America stood mindlessly whistling. The French nation had insisted on bringing the three brothers with them to the meeting with _Angleterre'_s boss. He had thought it would be best if they had stopped at Scotland's house to see if the nations were there. "How could you mention Britannia to him?"

With a heavy grunt, Scotland pushed off the Frenchman. "It's too early for yelling, goddamn it." He swayed slightly. "Besides, I didn't just mention our mother." France's eyebrows rose. "I mentioned you too, you useless nation." He scowled.

"_Moi?" _France gasped. His expression only served to amuse the American, who softly laughed. _Why does the Englishman even care about me? _"Why would you mention –"

"Enough, France." The nation felt a hard hand on his shoulder. "We've spent enough time here. If Scotland doesn't know where he is or particularly care, then we should go."

"Wait, goddamn it." The tall and muscular German turned to find Scotland with a slightly concerned expression. "England's missing? You don't know where the bastard is?"

"_Nein," _Germany muttered. A slightly more concerned expression appeared on Scotland's face. "It would serve you to come, Scotland." Scotland scowled at the three for a moment before stamping out the cigar previously in his left hand. The ashes left stains on the pavement. The fiery redhead nodded, while calling his other brother Wales as he stared at Ireland. An unknown look passed between them.

"England is missing?" France flinched at the hard tone _Angleterre_'s boss took when Scotland had stated the reason for their visit. The Englishwoman almost dropped the tea that she was carrying. _A heart attack waiting to happen, _France thought in relative amusement at the mere thought of _Angleterre _screaming at him for making him spill his tea. _I still remember the bruises. _"When did you become notified of this? Why did this happen?"

"One question at a time," Scotland muttered. _Angleterre_'s boss frowned. Scotland coughed. "I mean, yes. England…was notified as missing early in the meeting."

"Who reported this?" France took a moment to look at the boss that had governed _Angleterre_'s land for ten years. The human's once dark brown hair was gray, and wrinkles that had not appeared before were now present in her skin. Her hazel eyes had not lost the passion and the dedication that had captivated the citizens of the island, including _Angleterre_, France noted. He hadn't seen the Englishmen this captivated since Elizabeth I. _She is _tres beau, the French nation thought as he stared briefly into her hazel eyes. Emma Abbott was fifty years old and responsible for the support of the Scottish independence movement. He had heard _Angleterre _growl that was her only flaw, _"supporting the bloody tyranny that is my brother," _but would not dare to say that to her face. France had tried to hit on her once, and found her scathing look so intimidating it was another year before he could look at her in the eye again.

The prime minister of England was charismatic and also kept her head in any kind of situation. _Unlike the king, who simply brushed us off, _she _actually cares. _France absentmindedly thought of Elizabeth II, who had died not even ten years ago. The normally shouting and rude Englishman had been unnaturally quiet for several months after her death, and when asked, would only speak in clipped sentences. _I remember holding him that night, when he sobbed into my hair, and cried out for her. _Although he had not loved her, _Angleterre _had been fond of his queen. Her son he was not so fond of. _"The bloody git just loves to sit in her bloody chair!" _France would always listen as the short Englishmen would rant and shout about his other boss until he was exhausted and usually – crying. Now the king was dying as well, with _his _son taking his place. Mon dieu,_ there are times when I am grateful for the French Revolution!_

"Northern Ireland."

"I see," Abbot stated as she continued to observe the nations. "It seems my staff and I have been careless. I apologize." For a moment a brief expression of worry echoed across her face. "I have heard no ransom demands or of any terrorists organizations making a claim. Therefore, I request –"

"It's not that simple, prime minister." Scotland sighed. "My stupid idiot brother is probably somewhere, maybe in a ditch, crying somewhere in his own sick."

Abbot frowned. "I hardly doubt a self-respecting nation such as England would –"

"Believe me, Iggy's done_ that_ before!" At the withering glare of the human in front of him, America quieted.

"We fought, and well…in my defense, I was the one who was right!" Scotland suddenly stood and attempted a glare at the prime minister. "He invaded my lands, and abused my brothers and I!" Scotland's voice choked at the fury in the prime minister's eyes.

"We set up those meetings for a reason, Scotland," she stated dangerously calm, her hazel eyes flashing. "My predecessors, yours bosses' included, believed it was the right decision to move_ beyond_ the past grievances and forge bonds that you made a millennia ago." Abbot turned her attention to Wales and Ireland. "You _were _not supposed to fight like teenagers, and behave like that proud nations you are!"

_If only she knew, _France thought.

"It isn't our fault that England got so upset about what Scotland said about Ancient Rome," stated Wales, although France could see a flicker of remorse in his expression.

"Or about our mother, which is what happened," Ireland said more gruffly as he refused to look at the prime minister or France.

"Don't give me any excuses." The prime minister stood, her voice firm. "Find him." Her intense expression settled on Scotland, who was scowling. "Find England, or so help me…" Abbot left the threat hanging in the air as she stared at the four nations in her office. "You're dismissed. I will be able to convince that your bosses our fine with your absence." France and the three brothers nodded to her, America smiling at the prospect of having no paperwork, and they turned to leave the office. As France was about to close the door, familiar hazel eyes bored into his own.

"France." There was a slight vulnerability in the prime minister's tone that he had never heard before. "I ask of you…to find England." _Fear? _France thought as he recognized the human emotion. "Please." The whispered words that she spoke echoed into France's mind as she continued looking at him as genuine _fear _echoed in those depths. Before he could act on that, however, the door closed.

"France!" The nation turned to find Scotland pulling out another cigar despite the numerous signs against smoking and growled at him. "Get your ass moving!"

_That was a strange situation, _France thought as he remembered the prime minister's eyes. _I have never seen fear or…that kind of emotion on her face. She must truly care about her nation, _France thought as he absent-mindedly stroked his chin._ But of course she would, she's… Oh. _How much had France seen those very same eyes throughout the centuries? The eyes of a frantic lover, desperately denying what could be true? How could France not see this before, when the prime minster would glance fondly at _Angleterre _when she thought both he and her nation were not looking? _She always praised him, leaving no room for faults, _France thought as he continued to walk frantically out of the English Parliament, not even pausing to make coarse remarks about the scenery, which would upset both _Angleterre _and the prime minister. _Formerly being not one for tears, she would always let _Angleterre _weep in front of her. I used to be the one to comfort him the most before, _France thought as frustration at the thought. For a brief moment, the French nation started to ponder _why _he felt this frustration when Scotland screamed at him to hurry up.

* * *

"So…you are China, correct?"

"Yes." China gritted his teeth. It had been almost one hundred years since he had spoken Japanese. Since that night… China inwardly banished his mind from those thoughts and focused on the man before him.

The Asian nation stared at the man that had recently visited _that place. _China refused to see it as a shrine. _A place for murderers and their imperialist ancestors to rest, _the Chinese nation thought furiously as the man in front of him calmly sat in front of him and his siblings. South Korea was barely keeping calm. He seemed uninterestingly focused on the traditional Japanese painting on the far side of the wall. Taiwan was subdued.

"And…why are you here?"

_Aiyah, Japan's boss is annoying! _China had explained for five minutes why he, South Korea, and Taiwan were in Japan's house in the first place. The siblings had searched Japan's house – unlike the European nations, who immediately contacted Opium's boss – and found nothing. Pochi was even barking at the door, whining to let outside. He seemed to cower from South Korea for some reason, China observed. There they found a scroll with the kanji for siblings outside the door, wet from the snow. What had caused China to scream was the blood. Dark blood coating the floor and the scroll, against the ink that did not look completely black. Although the pain of the reason for his visit to Japan's house the night before was vivid in him mind, a cold and dark fear enveloped the Chinese nation then. _What happened to Japan?_

"I have told you. Japan is missing." The human nodded, losing interest even as the Chinese nation started to explain again. _Maybe this will work. _"If Japan is killed multiple times, the nation will collapse." Now Japan's boss' eyes widened, and China felt brief sympathy for his former younger brother. _His boss doesn't even care for him, _he thought.

"You would like to see that, wouldn't you China?" Japan's boss uttered in contempt. China's eyes widened in rage. "Your boss certainly would like to see my country becoming a memory…so how are you different from them, I ask?"

The words struck China more than they should have. _"I wish America would have killed you!" _Last night's words echoed in his mind. He thought of Japan's broken expression, which had been blind to him before. _I…have nothing to say to you!_

"Japan is my younger brother," China replied even as he hated speaking to the human in front of him. "I will not leave him to die."

"Fine." Japan's boss gave an unreadable expression. "Go, find him before anyone dies."

China didn't even offer him a bow.

"Attention!" Germany stood in the center of the room. France and the other nations that had recently arrived from meeting _Angleterre_'s boss stood beside each other. Northern Ireland also stood beside them despite the glares her brothers gave her. None of them spoke. _This is a heavily serious matter, _France thought as the other nations quieted at the sound of Germany's shout. _Everyone is quiet and listening. How _Angleterre _would love that! _At the thought of the English nation however, France's thoughts became bleak. _Where are you, _mon ami_? Not everyone hates you as you think they do._

"We have yet to locate England and Japan at this time! As such, we can only presume that others have found out about our secret!" Germany's pale blue eyes surveyed the room. "After an argument with their brothers concerning issues about the past, both nations disappeared." At the mention of this, both France and strangely Greece stared harshly at the brothers. "It is likely they were kidnapped," the German nation stated morosely. Fear started to build in the nation's eyes. Even Russia's violet eyes, a hint of worry appeared. "We will look for them, and any nation who wants to is welcome to come along!"

"It looks like Iggy and Japan need a hero!" France allowed himself a sigh. _I am beginning to see why _Angleterre _tried to lock up his comic books. _

"I will come as well." Several other nations looked surprised when they saw Iraq standing up in his traditional garb. "What?" the nation glared.

It did not help matters that America suddenly put his arm around the older nation. "I guess we'll be saving Iggy together, Iraq!" Iraq's eyebrow twitched. "After all, I was your and Afghanistan's hero!"

Immediately, the turbaned nation broke free from the American's grasp. His dark eyes were murderously angry. He muttered something in Arabic under his breath and then said,

"Say that to my brother, you bastard! He hasn't gotten over the war yet!"

"Really?" America looked surprised. For a moment his eyes darkened. "Where's Israel when you need him? He could help you guys with your problems, you know."

France swallowed at the intense fury in the former colony. "He's busy destroying the Middle East, and you're not helping matters!" For a moment, the nation seemed to calm. "I will help in your effort to rescue England, Germany." His dark eyes glared at the American nation. "He's better company than America, anyway."

"Hey!"

"I will come as well." Various eyes stared at the tall Asian province standing near Iceland. Hong Kong was wearing a traditional Chinese dress but the eyebrows above his head remained despite almost one hundred years since moving back into China's house. The province had an unreadable expression on his face, but judging by the growing anger in China's eyes, the former colony had made his choice.

"Hong Kong, what are you thinking?" The Chinese nation stated in mixed worry and anger. "Why would you try to help locate Opium? He used you!"

"He raised me as well." Hong Kong stated in a monotone voice. "I know you do not have a very good relationship with him, but England taught me many ideas and thoughts."

"He taught you how to be a delinquent!"

As the former brothers continued their argument, France's attention became aware of another nation that wanted to join their efforts. Russia.

"I will help, _da_?" The nations that had fought Russia during the war shuddered at the sight of the nation's growing purple aura. "I do not like my boss, and so you will let me help, _da_?" At the corner of his eye, France thought he saw Germany's face turn pale. Prussia too was unable to look the other nation in the eye.

"I will also come." France breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his old friend, Spain. The green-eyed Spaniard appeared cheerful despite the circumstances. _"Inglaterra es mi amigo." _

"No way, you commie bastard!" America started to yell as his shaking hand pointed at the taller nation. "You killed your boss!"

The room became deathly silent. France almost forgot to breathe. Russia appeared to be smiling and happy, but the blond nation could see the mask starting to crack. _Stupid! He wasn't supposed to mention that! _

Fortunately it appeared that World War III would be on standstill as various Asian nations, China, South Korea, Taiwan, and Vietnam stood and told Germany that they would be rescuing Japan.

"Don't forget me!" Heads turned to find Turkey with his mask strutting towards the others. _What a bizarre friendship if I've ever seen one, _France thought as he inwardly shook his head. Greece stood beside Turkey as well, scowling and silently allowing his former enemy to move ahead of him. His once half-closed eyes were open, and appeared clear and determined. There was no cat in sight. "I was the Ottoman Empire!"

_Yes, and we had to save your ass, _France thought in exasperation as the glares intensified from all sides of the room. Greece started beating the masked nation to a pulp as several of the nations, particularly ones that had been under Turkey's rule, started to cheer.

"Everyone, shut up!" A vein was starting to pop in Germany's head, and the pencil he was holding in his hand was starting to crack. "We are here to save our fellow nations, not fight about the past, which is what caused the disappearance in the first place! Now –"

Unfortunately for Germany, there was a sudden sound. The presentation board suddenly came on, slowly moving until it was where it had been a mere month before when Germany started talking about how to correctly solve the world's problems. No one moved. The nations in the room waited with bated breath, their eyes not leaving the screen.

"Hello, loves!" _Angleterre? _The voice did sound like his own. It had the tone and for a moment France thought that perhaps the Englishman had gotten drunk again and shown his sweet side when something didn't feel right. This voice as too sweet to belong to _Angleterre_, and there was a malicious note in that voice as well. _Where have I heard this voice before? _His memory thought he had heard this voice before, but France was certain he had not. Then suddenly the screen flashed.

Standing before them was a man that looked like _Angleterre _and yet not _Angleterre_. His hair was too tame, his eyes too lively, and his clothes… France shuddered.

"Hello, loves!" the _Angleterre _imposter stated again. Looking closer, France could see that the person's eyes had a shade of pink. _Pink? _"I have a little present you, for being such good little boys and girls!" Uncontrollable laughter suddenly escaped from him, and the nations in the room recoiled in horror. Many times throughout their history they have heard such laughter. The laughter of a mad nation. The color from France's face drained. "Here you go, my dear poppets!"

France waited with bated breath as the sudden light was turned back off. A moment later, it was turned back on. A knife stained with old and slick blood was against a neck. The hands were stained with blood, and a ghastly smile on the face as the light showed the nations the present given to them.

France could only gap in horror. His heart clenched as vomit reached his throat, and his head lurched, sickened, as the _Angleterre _imposter pressed the knife against skin and grabbed a shaking and bloody hand, waving.

"Say hi, Arthur!"

* * *

I

I'm sorry this took so long, guys. I hope to update quicker sooner next time! I have a question for _you_ though. How long should it take for England and Japan to break and to lose their minds? Tell me if the nations are out of character. _Arigatou gozaimasu!_


	8. Memory VIII

England did not scream. He did not scream even as streams of blood leaked onto his hands and even as Oliver continued to smile maliciously as each fingernail grew back minutes after it had been removed and tore at the clean renewed skin, blood squirting from the wound. _How many…times has it been? _England thought as his pain-filled gaze looked anywhere but his hands. He heard blood, _his _blood, dripping onto the ground. England had lost count after fifteen. The blond nation was motionless as yet another fingernail was ripped apart despite pain jolting through his limbs. _You're stronger than this, _England told himself even as his breath started to come in gasps as the blood flowed onto his hands. _You were the Great British Empire, for bollocks sake! This is nothing! _Suddenly, a scream rushed to his throat as Oliver took both of his hands and squeezed his fingers.

The agony from the touch caused England's eyes to squeeze desperately shut. A high laughter followed as there was a subsequent _crack _as both of his hands were broken. England's eyesight dimmed as the agony reached to his head. The blood continued to drip, and his hands lied uselessly by his side. The blonde nation didn't have time to react as cold hands reached for his face. A familiar sickening smile echoed across Oliver's face.

"Do you remember now?" he purred, his breath nearing England's mouth as the alternate nation breathed unevenly. The long and thin hands were stained with blood, and Oliver's pinked-hued eyes followed the healing nails as they grew over the bloodstains.

"I don't remember anything!" That was the wrong answer. Oliver simply gave him a sweet smile as he broke all five of England's fingers on his right hand. The nation almost gasped at the rush of agony, but he bit his lip hard. The cold hand released his broken hand, and England allowed shuddering breaths to escape from him. Cold sweat framed his forehead, and the fire from his limbs caused his fingers to shake. He allowed himself a rueful smile. _I've gotten weak, haven't I? _The scars from the millennia of wars echoed across his body, including one across his heart. _The bubonic plague…the Blitz…and the bloody wars I had against the insufferable frog…were nothing compared to this. _The broken bones in his hands began to heal. England could feel the bones realign themselves and his fingers become whole again as he glared at Oliver.

"What…exactly am I supposed to remember?" he yelled. The alternate nation didn't move, his face passive as England began to scream louder. "I have many memories! What am I supposed to know for my _sins_?" He spat the word out as one would to phlegm, breathing heavily as Oliver continued to stay silent. The emerald eyes could not sense any emotion from the alternate nation. Then faster than England could think, a knife cut into his flesh.

His mouth opened as the knife continued to pierce his flesh. He could only feel the cold. The dark cold seeping inside him, like water from the ocean. England had never told anyone that he couldn't swim. How could he, knowing that the fellow nations would mock him? He, the fiercest pirate and one that had spent the most out of all the nations on ships, could not swim and was weary of water. A dark memory swept upon him as the cold knife continued to dig deeper and deeper.

_A water-logged France, his once silky-hair now filled with sand and seawater heaved his breath as he pulled the semi-unconscious Englishman towards his chest. England was only aware of how the taller nation trembled as he surprisingly gently stroked his soaked face. The nation would have laughed incredulously or would have spluttered and attempted to run away, screaming insults and profanity, but he was far too weak to do so. He hadn't expected that his aim of his sword towards France would be off enough that he would fall into the ocean. They had been arguing about…something, and it escalated. England was suddenly aware of France's hands stroking his hair. Even in his exhausted and half-unconscious state, the nation felt the urge to pull away until he heard the sound of feverish French coming from the once sneering nation. _Why…does he care about me? _England dimly thought as his consciousness started to drift away. _Why the bloody hell is he saying those things, we all know that he hates me? …Why? _With the last thought of confusion, England collapsed into unconscious in his enemy's arms._

The memory shattered as England felt agony burn through his stomach as the knife's cold grip faded away. A half-choked gasp escaped from him as the knife continued to plunge deeper and deeper into his skin, leaving a bloody trail as the red liquid soaked his clothing. It flowed onto the ground, and England felt a scream clog in his throat as the knife twisted. His heart thumped erratically in his chest, drowning out the agony exploding through his veins as the knife's blade sunk into his flesh until only the hilt was visible. His hands were white as he desperately clenched them to halt the screams become audible as the knife twisted again.

Suddenly Oliver turned his eyes into his widened ones and whispered, "Do you know now?" His once smiling face was grim, but his hair seemed to be unruly and there was a breathless tone to his whisper.

"No." England gasped as his voice faltered for a moment. The knife, gleaming and red with slick blood, tore out of him, and the nation almost tore through his lips as the pain dulled his senses. Vaguely, he felt Oliver holding him by his hair and his pink-hued eyes stared into his own.

"No?" Oliver whispered sweetly. "Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see." Suddenly, they pinkish-hue began to change. Swirling, it began to become faster and faster until the English nation could only focus on the sight of the color as something within him changed…

_So many dead. England mindlessly kicked a body aside as he looked through the destroyed village. England hefted the weapon in his hands and stared at it. _Bloody hell, _he cursed as he eyed the bloodstains on it. _Why did it come to this? _A dullness seeped through him as he stared at the dead bodies beneath his feet. Women, men, and children lied scattered across the ground, blood leaking from the wounds that had killed them as if they still lived. England saw a young girl, no older than four, clutching her dead mother's sari as her intestines spilled out from the ground. _

_The scent of death was strong, but England still stood at the sight of so many of India's people dead. Infants, even those at their mother's breasts were not spared. Their tiny skulls cracked against the ground, the soil red and brains visible through the broken cranium. England had spent too much time at war to be affected by the smell of death. He had killed them as much as his citizens had. He remembered the hatred in their eyes, and the coldness seeping from their hearts as they killed India's people. _It had to be done, _England told himself. _It had to be done. _Why then did he feel so empty?_

_ A strangled scream alerted him before a sword was aimed at his head. England ducked, his body moving sideways as his eyes stared at the furious expression of India. No, more than furious. She was broken._

_ "Damn you to fucking hell, England!" She screamed. Her sari was soaked in blood, and the female nation snarled as England continued to stand. "You did this! Slaughtered my people!" A furious and choked sob escaped from her as she gripped the sword in her hands.  
"You killed –"_

_ "They killed my people as well!" England shouted at her as anger started to stream through him as she pointed her sword at his head again. "My people, my citizens!" His emerald eyes flashed as India continued to rage. "_Your _people –"_

_ "How many have been fucking killed by your hand, England?" The blond nation faltered at the murderous expression the Indian was emitting. Her dark brown eyes appeared to become even darker as the rage increased. "How many babies, children, and defenseless women did you kill in _retaliation _for your disgusting citizens?" Her uneven breathing increased. "How many?"_

_ "Do you imagine how I feel, knowing that my citizens were _butchered_?" England screamed as salvia suddenly dripped from his mouth. His voice shook in rage. "How I felt their limbs dismembered from their bodies, dead people of some devil's religion –!" _

_ "You insulted us!" India screamed. "You killed the cows, sacred to us, and you insulted _me _by ignoring the laws of my religion! Goddamn you!" She continued to rave as the summer wind began to dance, tangling in her long hair. "I'm going to declare my independence, you fucking –!"_

_ "No." England's voice was cold. His expression became hard as he stared at India. "You are not ready to govern yourself, India! Look at what happened just now! Indian soldiers angry over some bloody cow blood, and they slaughter my people! Does that sound like a civilization to you? No, I will not allow –"_

_ Suddenly, the nation felt a harsh slash across his chest as the female's nation's murderous expression leaned against his own. Her hot breath echoed against his face. "I wish I could kill you. So many times." The cut caused him to fall, the blood soaking his uniform as she continued to scream, in furious Hindi. She looked back at the wounded English nation, her expression cold and blank as she stared at him. She whispered something to him, something he couldn't understand, and left with tears flowing from her eyes. _

England gasped. His ragged breathing and impossibly wide eyes stared at the unemotional gaze of Oliver. The nation felt the blood leak from his wound, but he seemed unaware of the pain that was once so apparent. _What…on…what just happened? _England's perspiration soaked in his hair, his breaths becoming more halting by the moment as the flashes from the memory surged through his mind. The blood….the bodies…the murderous nation in front of him… England swallowed, not daring himself to breathe. _I… _The crying children…the screams of the burned and the agonized as they bled out… _I… _His eyes became empty as he recalled every image that had imprinted on his mind that day. Of the things that _he _and _his people _had done. The bloodied sword… England failed to notice the knife against his neck.

"Poor Arthur," the nation muttered as his counterpart continued to stare at the ground. "He realized he did a very naughty thing, didn't he?" Mockingly, Oliver began to laugh. Laugh as England continued to stare at nothingness as the reality of what had occurred almost two centuries ago imbedded in his mind.

"Why…this is why…India…."

"What is it, dear?" Oliver continued to chuckle. "I can't here you!"

"This is why India doesn't speak to me…" England rasped as his mouth continued to move. He could barely hear his voice. "She doesn't talk to me or acknowledge me…because of this. Why?" he suddenly screamed. "How could I have bloody forgotten this fucked up…_slaughter_?" Agony reached through England's head as he felt his body collide with the wall. He could see only red, then darkness. Slick blood started to leak from the cut across the top of his head, pooling onto the floor as he felt Oliver finger his hair as his eyesight steadily came back.

"You forgot because it was too painful," Oliver stated. His tone was almost sympathetic. "Too damaging to your mind to acknowledge what you had done. It…would have destroyed you." His pink-hued eyes was the first sight England had as his sight returned to him. "And so the memory was returned to me." Suddenly, his face became angry, and his nails embedded in England's face as his own furious expression leaned against his counterpart. "Too much pain for Arthur. Too many memories that he _couldn't _handle!"  
A knife was held at England's neck. "And you gave all of those memories to me! Thousands of them!" A rare horrified expression tore across his face. "Self-loathing and hatred that are forced upon us, that _you _give to us so you live in peace!" Bead of blood leaked onto England's collar as the knife found its way into his skin again. The Englishman was frozen, his entire being numb and shocked at the sight of the insane counterpart. "That's all we're for," Oliver whispered into England's ear. Suddenly, his eyes stared into England's again. "Now…"

The blond nation in vain tried to flee. "No," he stated, shame filling his voice at the sound of genuine fear in his voice as his eyes continued to stare into the pink orbs. _What will I find that I do not want to remember? _"Please, don't. No, I don't –"

The memory came.

_She was burning. England watched flabbergasted as the young girl that had once been his worst adversary burned. The flames burned hot, tearing against her flesh. She didn't scream or look away. Even as her clothes burned. Even as the flesh on her skin continued to melt. England felt a gasp clog in his throat as the woman known as Jean D'Arc became engulfed in flames, the cheers of his countrymen drowning the horror that he felt. He had hated her, of course. The English nation had not felt as satisfied as when his soldiers had captured her. She had been his enemy. _…I didn't want her to burn. _England stood motionless as the fire continued to consume the woman that had captured France's heart. _I didn't want her die. _It was now, he realized, that he had been jealous of the girl. Jealous of the fact that France admired her and loved her more than he had to him. He was jealous that France no longer seemed to _need _him. And the fact that she was the only reason why he was losing the war. England had snarled at his soldiers when the girl had refused to speak to him as he mocked France and her imprisonment. "Do whatever the bloody hell you want with her!"…But he hadn't meant for her to die._

_ England felt a hand on his shoulder, and could not dodge the fist aimed at his cheek. Something cracked, and the nation felt a hard hand across his neck as the dark pools of blue eyes stared into his own. France was not crying. He was shaking, trembling as his entire body lied on top of England's. _

_ "Why, England?" Somehow it seemed to matter that France called him by his name in English. The nation's blue eyes became dull. "Why did you do it? To her?" His hands began to pull at England's uniform, tearing at it. "Tell me why!"_

_ "I didn't mean to!" England shouted desperately at the sight of the shining eyes of France. "I didn't want this to happen, France!" Suddenly France seemed to still. An ironic smile appeared on his face. _

_ "You lie, _mon ami_." France leaned his face towards England's. "You were jealous, jealous of the bond we had! I loved her, and your heart is so cold you are for no one except yourself!" Tears ran down his face. His hands stilled. England could only stare at the broken face of his enemy. "I hate you, England." A whimper escaped from him. "You took so much from me…was taking my land, my people, and my pride not enough?" He stood, unsteadily as he limped from the fallen England. He swerved and stared murderous at his enemy. "I hate you, _Angleterre_! I hate you for what you did…and I wish that I could have killed you…so much." His cold blue eyes followed the numbness in the Englishman's eyes. _

"_I'm glad that I have Scotland. At least…he is at least a better nation than you." Then he smiled. "I will fuck him as much as I need to in order to cause you pain my dear _Angleterre. _I will relish in your sorrows, except, I truly wish…" The wind appeared to howl, and stroked the Frenchman's face. "That my Jeanne was still alive to see the day when you were at my feet." _

England felt himself being pulled onto a chair and the cold knife against his living skin as his empty eyes stared. Numb. The wounds that had been hidden for over four hundred years burned into his mind, into his memory. His mind remained blank to all else except France's words. Why did the affect him so? Why did it feel as if he was being pulled apart? His face was bone white, and he wasn't even aware of Oliver moving his lips as magic suddenly appeared. _Why do I care…what I did in the past? What I did…to France? Why the bloody hell? _England's breath became shallow as the last words France spoke to him that day burned into his mind. Vomit reached his throat. He was aware of his empty hand being waved, and seeing blurred faces as he remained unresponsive to the faces that were slowly becoming clearer. _The pain… _England thought as the memories of his past actions haunted in his mind. _The blood and everything else that came with it… _His sight was becoming a picture of fractured memories. Of flames and death. Of the dead bodies of children, of India's people. Of France, with his last parting words. His tears.

…_I'm sorry._

* * *

In 1857, the English soldiers insulted the Hindu and Muslim Indian counterparts by having to grease their guns through the use of tallow, made from beef and pork, which was offensive to Muslims and Hindus. This combined with the repressive regime by the English resulted in a massive rebellion by the Indians, and 200 English women, men, and children were massacred by Indian sepoys in the same year. In retaliation, English soldiers massacred 5,000 people. This was what I learned in tenth grade, and I'm far too lazy to look up what is fabrication from a high school textbook or just plain ignorance. Please forgive me if I make any mistakes. I do not mean to insult. The Auld Alliance was between France and Scotland between 1295 and 1520. I will talk about the alliance more in later chapters.


	9. Memory IX

_Japan was running. Despite the agony burning through his wounded and damaged body, he continued to run even as a strangled cough escaped from him. Blood dripped onto his chin. The Asian nation breathed through the heavy scent of blood. It was all over. The stains dripped against the leaves of the trees, and scattered limbs burned in his mind as Japan continued to run. Pain continued to build up in his chest, and Japan felt his breathing become fast and shallow as it increased. So many of his citizens had died in Okinawa's house. It had been an invasion by America and his soldiers. _

_Japan suddenly stopped as another, stronger agony surged through him as he collapsed onto the ground. _Onegai shimasu… _Japan pleaded to his former ally again as blood leaked from his lips as another cough escaped from him. _Onegai… _America and his allies and started bombing Japan's house starting last year. The fires and the bodies of the dead, kimonos burnt and the faces of death burned through the Japanese nation's mind as his body racked with pain, feeling his people die as they died alone. Japan's normal expressionless face marred in agony as he stood again. The kimono he wore was stained with blood, and his face was pale with exhaustion. _

_His left leg slightly dragged behind him, thinking of Okinawa. Japan had met her when she had been in control of one of his citizens. The Satsuma domain had been powerful then, powerful enough to control the government of very small set of islands known as the Ryūkyu Kingdom. Japan hadn't expected to find a young girl wearing a brightly colored kimono-like attire with the red and gold with birds and wearing an odd hat on her head in the shape of a flower. She immediately jumped into his arms, squeezing his stomach as the Japanese nation became flustered and tried to pull away. The child, Japan noted, looked up at him with a strange wisdom and smiled. _"Yorishiku onegai shimasu, oniichan!" _Japan was stunned. How could she speak so well in his language? A nod from one of his citizens alerted him of the child holding onto him, smiling as he realized that she was not a human child. _

_She was a nation. _

_Although Japan told her not to, she continued to insist calling him _oniichan_. The memory of the endearment reminded the Japanese nation of a time when he had run into China's arms, breathless with happiness with a rare smile on his face, laughing as the _sakura _bloomed._ Oniichan _loves these flowers, Japan had thought as China shyly pulled away from the small nation's embrace. _I wonder how many I should give to him… _The time was past now. China had the scar on his back, his screams and the rivers of blood flashing in Japan's mind as he remembered the enraged looks of the Korea twins as he calmly sat down and talked with them. Taiwan was subdued and wouldn't speak with him. Unlike the others, Okinawa was happy living with Japan. She loved it whenever he came by to her home, acting much like the very small child she had been instead of the young woman that Japan knew she would become. Even as she began showing signs of exhaustion, dark rings around her eyes, and slight blood on her clothes, she always seemed to be more concerned with Japan than herself. _Okinawa… _Japan thought as he thought of her broken body prone before the triumphant America_-san_. He remembered the first time when he had first brought her first kimono. It was a present for officially becoming part of the Japanese territory. Japan remembered of how she had glowed when she had put on the kimono, dancing and laughing as she smiled at him, beaming. They had become very close over the centuries they had known each other. The girl had been enthralled in Japan's culture, and wanted to know so much about his people. Japan noted of how she spoke of her own culture and her own people. She was very pleased to note that their languages were so similar, and taught him many things about her land and the beauty of the islands that she loved so much. She wasn't arrogant about her culture or history. She didn't scorn him for being the youngest nation, for she was older than him. Looking at his younger sister and seeing of how she loved everything around her made Japan think that the name that he chose for her was a fitting one. Her name was Ren, a name meaning love. _

_Now as Japan in vain searched for Okinawa, his dark eyes searched the ground. Bodies were everywhere. A dead baby lied near its mother, its empty eyes open at the sky. Farther away, Japan could see a group of children, the blood from their wounds seeping onto the ground. He spotted a lone Japanese soldier along the path, his face calm even as his intestines spilled out of him. Japan crouched down, ignoring the numbing pain that shook through him as he silently whispered a prayer for his citizen that had died in such a gruesome way. _

_Soon Japan found Okinawa. She was lying on her side, blood crusted against her face. Her formerly gentle expression was empty, and her head was bare, leaving her long hair undone. The traditional clothing that she had taken pride in was torn and stained with more blood and had streaks of mud. "Okinawa…" Japan muttered, his voice catching in his throat as he watched Okinawa struggle to take breath. "Please, say something for me…Okinawa." He waited with bated breath. Suddenly, Okinawa attempted to move from where she was and hissed in agony as she stared at Japan. The formerly adoring eyes that had echoed in Japan's expressionless eyes now were dark in anger. In rage. Japan softly gasped, recognizing the gaze that had echoed in his mind for years. _

"_You…used me." Her voice was somber and almost inaudible. "You…I meant nothing to you." Okinawa attempted to stand again, but her face marred with pain. "Your soldiers killed my people," she whispered as gradual rage burned through her voice. "So many of them. I _saw _them." Her enraged stare shook Japan. Her hands shakily pointed to him. "They told them to commit suicide, that the Americans were coming and would kill them and rape them!" Blood dripped from her mouth from the shouting coming from her. "Lies! All lies!" Japan could only breathe deeply as Okinawa suddenly stood and starting screaming. "I became what you wanted to be, a perfect Japanese doll! I thought that you cared for me, but they said that my people weren't Japanese! We were inferior, just uncivilized Okinawans!" Her breathing became erratic as Japan's eyes widened. "Your so-called honorable soldiers left all of us to die! They fled, just like you did Japan!" Tears started to streak down the female nation's cheeks. "You didn't protect me, or care for me at all!"_

"_Okinawa!" Japan shouted, desperation suddenly sizing him as Okinawa continued to cry and her angry eyes bored into his own. "Okinawa, I'm sorry," he softly stated. "I…when I found out, my boss wouldn't let me go. I searched and searched for you, and I –"_

"_Shut up, Japan!" Hearing his nation name caused Japan to inwardly falter. Okinawa had never called him that before, not even when she knew who he was. "I'm…not Japanese anymore! I'm Okinawan! You don't care for me, and you never have. I know that at the first chance you got, you would just kill me just like your soldiers!"_

"_Ren –" Suddenly Japan's choked cry was cut off by Okinawa jumping on him. Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she aimed a bone dagger at his throat. _

"_Don't ever call me that," she whispered furiously in Okinawan. "I'm not….that _child _anymore." The dagger cut a bit of flesh, and Japan was still as the female nation remained impassive as blood leaked from the small cut. "I hate you, Japan! I hate you!" Her screams rose into the air. "I will never forgive you for what you have done to me!" Taking Japan's trembling hands in her own, she softly whispered into his ear. "You're not my brother anymore."_

Japan stared dully at Kuro as the memory remained in his mind. Okinawa's enraged expression echoed in his mind, and hearing her voice. _How…could I have forgotten? _Japan thought as the memories filtered through his mind. The blood and the bodies as he saw Okinawa on the ground. _Does she remember this? _Japan surmised that she did, else why would she refuse to meet with him for the past ninety decades? He had tried to call out to her during the years after the war, but nothing had been successful. He only obtained the same enraged and cold manner that he had received from China and South Korea.

"_Nande?" _he whispered as the scene of Okinawa holding the dagger played in his mind. _"Nande watashi wa…oboete imasen…deshita?"_

"It happens that way with memories you don't want to remember," Kuro stated tonelessly in English. Japan stared at him in shock. He had forgotten that Koru was even there. "Those that were the victims of the torment, either angry enough or damaged enough that they could _not _forget, remembered the past as you forgot for your own benefit." Suddenly, he turned Japan's face towards his own and lifted it. "Do you understand now why your former siblings hate you now?" Japan didn't respond. His breathing was becoming irregular as he remembered of the scenes that he had implanted into Kuro. The memory that he had just witnessed had been the fifth memory. Seeing Okinawa scream at him and telling him that he was no longer her brother wounded him more than he thought it would. Japan remembered staring emotionlessly as China wailed and screamed as Nanking burned. He remembered crouching in front of a cowering Taiwan, ordering her to obey him as he stood with his red katana pointing at her pale face. He saw young girls, crying and screaming, as they were lead away. Seeing his impassive face, doing nothing to help the mere children that would serve the Japanese military. A strange emotion overcome Japan then. He felt vomit through his throat, wanting to throw up but couldn't. His eyes squeezed shut, an attempt to stop the images from destroying him mind any further. It didn't work.

"_Nakimasu ka?" _Japan hoarsely whispered as he brushed his fingers against his wet face. It had been…centuries since he had cried. That had been when… He watched as Kuro's red eyes bored into his own, noting of the contempt in them. Japan attempted to cease the tears from flowing, but they continued to flow. _"Watashi wa…nakimasu ka?" _Japan shuddered as the tears streaked down his face.

His tears looked like pearls.

* * *

_Nande? - _Why?

_Nande watashi wa oboete imasen deshita?_ \- Why couldn't I remember?

_Nakimasu ka?_ \- Crying?

_Watashi wa nakimasu ka?_ \- I am crying?

* * *

In 1609, the Satsuma domain of Japan invaded the Ryukyu Kingdom and became subordinate to Japan. Okinawa and the rest of the Ryukyu Kingdom was subjugated to Japanese rule in 1879, and its citizens were discriminated against and pressured to accept the Japanese culture as superior to their own. From April 1, 1945 to June 22, 1945, the United States invaded Okinawa in an attempt to prepare for the invasion of the Japanese mainland. Japanese soldiers told the Okinawans that the American soldiers would commit atrocities to them and it would be better to commit suicide. Some Okinawans were forcibly killed. The Japanese soldiers left the Okinawans to defend for themselves. 12, 000 Americans died during the battle, and 70,000 Okinawans and Japanese military personal were killed.


	10. Memory X

France could only feel his very life seep from him as he stared at the limp figure before him. His mouth inwardly widened in horror at the sight of the soaked blood across the once proud uniform worn by the personification of England. _Angleterre… _His former enemy was covered in blood. Across his abdomen, blood soaked across the clothing, and continued to drip onto the floor. His hand were broken, hanging limply by his sides. One held up by the _Angleterre _imposter. France's eyes widened and vomit came to his throat at the sight of the hands that had once taken care of roses so tenderly. Stained with blood, the fingers he noted, appearing healed. And the fingernails…nothing but the flesh and sickening bright red blood remained. What frightened France most though were his eyes. The eyes, once burning with rage, irritation, and pride, now looked as empty as the abyss. The emerald eyes that the Frenchman had known for over one thousand years now were dull and dead. His face, pale as the maidens that France had once lusted after. Now France could only stare dully at the broken figure as a scream grew in his throat.

"Arthur, aren't you supposed to say hi?" France gaped in horror as the _Angleterre _imposter slowly captured the broken hands again and squeezed. The French nation thought he heard a crack. "Arthur?" The pale hand began to cup _Angleterre_'s cheek. The blood smeared on the nation's face as the imposter removed his hand and aimed the knife at the throat. A wound had already begun to appear.

"What are you doing to Iggy?" The nations once staring stunned at the screen looked at America, who was the first to break from the horror and started to shout. France noted that the young nation's once jovial and carefree expression was gone. His eyes, once as light as the blue sky, were now as dark and forbidding as the darkest ocean. The voice that came from him reminded France of the America that appeared shortly after the September day thirty-six years ago. Deadly and dangerously calm with cool rage underneath. "What have you done to him?"

"Hello, Alfred." America and the other nations flinched at the sound of their human names. Centuries would pass before a nation would reveal his human name to another nation. It was an ultimate sign of trust. Or familial bond, France remembered as he could see a child Italy in his arms, both of them breathless with laughter as the young auburn told him his human name. He remembered too, of the time when _Angleterre _had told him his human name. One of the most…

"How the hell do you know my name?" America uttered softly. His eyes widened in surprise, and squinted incredulously as the _Angleterre _imposter laughed.

"It's a sign to differentiate, my love." Now the emerald eyes swirled dangerously. "It is similar to Arthur and I here," he stated as he leaned his hands onto the Englishman's pale face. France felt a gasp escape from him as he lowered his lips onto _Angleterre_'s cheek. His heartbeat was beating impossibly hard against his ribcage, and why did he feel his breath weaken as the _Angleterre _imposter continued to have his lips across the cheek of the island nation? France felt his hands curl into fists, impossibly tight and painful, as he continued to see _Angleterre _weak and bleeding as the imposter continued to speak. "My name is Oliver Kirkland, the alternate personification of the Great British Isles?"

"The Great British Isles?" France turned to find Scotland glaring at this Oliver with barely contained contempt. "What the fuck do you mean, the Great British –"

"Unlike this weak one here," Oliver purred as he continued to push the knife onto _Angleterre_'s throat, making France's heart squirm, "I am in control of the entire island." Suddenly, his voice became cold and deep. "You were not able to usurp me, my poppets, and my dear _brothers_." A sneer appeared on his face, and a shudder went down France's spine at the mocking tone which oozed with contempt. The eyes with swirls of pink stared hard at the brothers. "My Scotland is much nicer than you," Oliver whispered as his hands caressed _Angleterre_'s hair. His fingers moved to _Angleterre_'s mouth, almost teasing, and the blond French nation felt his stability crumble. "So quiet and afraid…almost like –"

"Don't you dare touch him." The nations turned to find France trembling with rage and disgust, his expression burning as he glared at Oliver Kirkland. "Don't you dare touch him again, you bastard." The once silky and smooth Frenchman was losing himself in the state of _Angleterre. _The former enemy and friend empty and broken before him, wounded. "I will _hurt _you for what you did to him."

France least expected him to laugh. The laughter echoed throughout the walls, deep and almost insane as the imposter continued to laugh. It was the only sound the Frenchman heard for a while. It echoed in his ears, as maniac as it sounded, and it reminded the blond nation vaguely of his own laughter centuries past. Horror filled though him as he witnessed a pale hand reaching forward toward another.

"You mean like this, love?"

France heard the sickening crack of the arm dislocating itself from its socket. The laughter and dulled scream echoing in France's mind as he saw the right arm falling to its side. The scream that he expected never came. Instead, he saw _Angleterre_'s eyes widen in life and squeeze themselves shut, the nation's agony evident on his face as uneven breaths escaped from him. France could see _Angleterre _stare dully as the imposter's hand continued to caress his cheek. He didn't seem to register his fellow nations staring at the screen.

"F-…France…" Blue eyes stared dully at the screen, meeting his former enemy's. Pain, excruciating pain echoed in those depths. Those eyes that France had seen with a child's innocence and hatred. "France…" The sound of his pleading made the nation swallow, hard. _He...never…_ The hand, which had healed stained with blood started to reach forward.

_"Aghhh!" _The scream caused his mind to break into little tiny pieces. He could hear the other nation's shout, and the others gasp in horror at the sight of _Angleterre _screaming as his second arm was ripped from his socket and _squeezed. Please… _France pleaded with himself as _Angleterre_'s screams continued to echo, _Please…I…_

The silence was hollow as the screams fell silent. Slowly, Oliver Kirkland stood and smiled at the nations gaping at the unconscious form of one of their own.

"Ride a plane around midnight tonight and go to the place where Britannia died. There, wait until the dawn sings and then you will find a portal." His voice was smooth and the smile burned in France's mind. "You will find us there, including another one of your own."

With a wave, he disappeared. The screen that had once held Oliver Kirkland and _Angleterre _was blank. France felt the entire room become only chaos, but his only attention was on the screen. _Angleterre… _His thoughts were on the Englishman, unconscious now in the room with Oliver Kirkland. He saw the blood across his friend's cheek, and of his two limbs lying limply across his side. The empty eyes…excruciating with agony… Once there was a time when France might have dreamed of the Englishman lying weak and helpless across his feet. Now it felt as if his entire being was being slowly destroyed as he heard _Angleterre_'s scream.

"France."

He turned to find the nations staring at him. Germany slowly came up to him, caution and concern on his face as he regarded the fellow European.

"France, are you okay?" Germany's light blue eyes bore into his own, searching. "I know…that you and England have been enemies for centuries…but for the first time you seem to care about his well-being." Blue eyes blinked, and France almost spoke. Almost. He could see the stares of the other nations, including of _Angleterre_'s brothers, looking at him strangely. _It is true that I have stated…that I hate the Englishman…but in fact, I truly do care for him. Only this…_

"I am fine, _mon ami_." France smiled slightly at the serious German. "It is simply strange to see _mon Angleterre _in such a weak positon." Although his thoughts were of how much longer this façade would last, France continued to smile at his ally. "Now, we do not want to hear his terrible scream again, _non?" Terrible…in very different ways. _"I suggest we find a way to cease those horrific thoughts from entering our minds by boarding a plane."


	11. Memory XI

England awoke to find the pain dulling at his fingertips. Above him, he saw Oliver looking down at him with an uninterested expression.

"You finally woke up." Now Oliver smiled, and the same carefree tone England had come to know caused him to shudder inside. He knew that Oliver would speak in that voice when something upset him or during the torture. England tried to move his fingers, but found Oliver's hands already grasping at the fragile skin and bone. It seems that his favorite thing to play with are my hands, England thought with growing fear in his stomach as Oliver continued to stare at the slim fingers with sudden interest as his tongue suddenly licked over his teeth. Suddenly the crouched down and took England's chin in his hands.

"Come with me," he said sweetly. His face held all the supposed kindness that he perceived to the outside, but England knew that there was nothing but anger and hate beneath the surface.

"Why…?" His voice was raspy and weak, and England cursed himself for such weakness. He still felt the agonizing pain as Oliver had pulled both of his arms out of their sockets. He could still hear his scream in his mind, impossibly loud and feeling his pleading gaze on one particular nation. _I…pleaded to him… _ The desperation had almost destroyed him as his thin and pleading voice had spoken to the nation, who's parting words echoed in his mind. _Why…_ England didn't understand. Had the agony been so intense he could do nothing but grovel and plead? The once proud nation he had been had shown his weakness to his fellow nations, and that was something not easily forgivable. _I should laugh at myself right now! Weak and pleading in front of my former enemies…seeing his horrified face before mine as I screamed. What have I…_ England thought as he felt the rough hands untie the bounds of his rope._ Is this what I have become?_ He felt the burning need to run and flee, away from the madness that had happened, but as he felt the feel of the cold knife on his back and the memory forehead, the black cloth be placed around his eyes, and felt the knife's sharp edge against him as Oliver urged him to move. _How embarrassing_, England thought. _How deplorable._ The one word made him think back to Scotland's words, his red hair aflame as he shouted that their mother should have never sacrificed for him. The memories of his…sins echoed heavily in his mind. Standing upon a pile of corpses, India's children beneath his feet, and seeing the mere girl that he wished to not exist burn before his eyes. Although there were thousands of such memories as stated by Oliver, England already felt his mind breaking by the memories that he witnessed beforehand. Perhaps I truly…

He stumbled as he walked, the thoughts deeper in his mind. England felt Oliver's breath in his ear, the knife against the back of his neck now. Move, he seemed to say. England felt his legs move forward, feeling the respect that had allowed him to move forward for the centuries deplete little by little. England grunted in pain as the hard surface collided against his face. England felt a bruise starting to appear on his forehead, the skin slowly burning. Oliver had taken the unsteadiness on his feet to his advantage, and now pulled the nation up on his feet. England felt the cloth against his eyes loosen, and stared dully at the surroundings before the nation gaped in horror.

A bathtub stood in the center of the room. A faint lightbulb, barely leaking light, hang above. England stared with growing sickness at the height of the bathtub, knowing by sight that the water within was couple of feet deep. No one knew of his deathly rear of water. Only France knew, similar to how only the blond-haired nation knew that England could not swim. It wasn't the fact that he couldn't swim, and that was the root of the fear. It was the fact that his mother, the proud nation that she was, had died on the water. England still remembered her, calling his name sweetly and Ancient Rome laughing and laughing as she drowned.

England swallowed and attempted to stare at the bathtub without fear. He saw the clear water, looking almost innocent as it lapped against the material that held it, feeling Oliver slowly push him towards the surface. _No…_ England thought as he could see the water come closer and closer. _No…_ "Please." He was not done with pleading, it seemed. "Please. Oliver – "

"Your sins," he simply whispered. England gave a hoarse shout as his head was plunged into the water. At first, he couldn't move. The nation was simply aware of his greatest fear surrounded by him. The water was cold. Very cold. England almost screamed at the fire that seeped into his very veins. So cold and wet, almost drowning him in the burned senses. England felt his lungs gasping for air. He couldn't breathe. Bubbles were already coming to the surface, and England felt panic to begin rising within him. He was screaming to himself to breath even though there was nothing but water. Against his will, the island nation opened his mouth and choked as the water come down his throat –

England gasped and wheezed as Oliver pulled his hair up from the water and allowed him to breathe. Only agonized gasps came from him as he choked and spluttered as water leaked into his mouth and down his throat. He felt it leak from his hair, plastered against his face as England gasped for breath. "Why…?" he shuddered as Oliver looked at him with swirling pink eyes.

"You need to learn your lesson." Before England could react, he felt Oliver grab his hair and pushed his head into the water.

He couldn't breathe. He felt the breath inside him leaving him, shorter than it had been the last time. England stared down at the water, seeing the paleness of it against his eyes. His lungs were aching for air. Burning and England tried to thrash but found that he couldn't. He felt the water begin to seep into his mouth again as inwardly screamed. _France! _He pleaded as his consciousness began to fade. _France!_

_Wales kneeled before him as a wound oozed from his shoulder. The dark emerald eyes that stared back at him reminded England of the past, of when he leaded for his brother to pick him up and Wales' rueful smile. That time is over, England told himself roughly as he stared bac at his king. I'm now in my rightful place. The king of his nation smirked approvingly at his nation. Together as they met Wales in the battlefield, they had fought and had won. England remembered of his brother's hateful stare as he lied defeated across his feet, his arrows broken and a sword wound to his side that was rapidly healing. I bow to no one know, England thought as he smirked at the kneeling brother before him. Now I can…_

_ "How does it feel like, Wales?" A smirk reached across his face. "To be subjugated, humiliated? To be unable to aid your own people?" Resentment still ran deep within him. _

_ Wales looked up at England with barely concealed hatred on his face. His dark emerald eyes became evens darker at the hatred embedded in them. "You bastard…" he snarled. England frowned. Although it had been many centuries since he had heard his brother speak the language, it didn't mean that he didn't remember._

_ "Put that barbaric tongue beneath your teeth," England snarled as he aimed a kick at Wales. The once proud nation kneed in pain from the kick aimed at his stomach. "You belong to me now, Wales, and that means that – "_

_ "Is this about your friend?" England stared as Wales attempted to stand but failing. Blood leaked from a cut from his cheek, but a clear look appeared in Wales' eyes. _

_ "What friend?" England snarled. His voice became dangerously angry. His hands clenched into fists as Wales continued to speak. _

_ "Your friend…that betrayed you with Alba." England froze. Stop talking. England willed that even his stupid brother was smart enough to know enough that that person was a topic that England could not speak of. "The one who had enough balls to actually betray – "_

_ "Betray?" England muttered. Suddenly Wales realized what he had done and tried to run away, even wounded as he was. "Betray?!" he snarled, holding Wales' tunic by the his hand and staring at him with rage in his eyes. "He did more than betray me!" Immediately, he started to kick Wales wherever he could reach. "Betray me?!" He screamed. "He destroyed me!" Blood started to form from the wounds given previously by their battle, but England didn't notice this. "He made a fool out of me, attaching himself to the one person that made my life a living hell! Imagine, what it was like to find out that a person you hated the least out of all the annoying people in the world and finding out that he allied with your brother!" _

_England began to breathe heavily as his brothers' cries of pain echoed in the castle. He started to see blood seeping from new wounds, coming faster and faster as he kicked his brother, in the stomach, in the chest, in the groin, wherever, his leg could reach. Eventually the screams stopped with Wales only looking blankly at the sky. The king and his knights desperately tried to subdue their nation, but it was for naught. Although smll for his years, England was strong. Strong enough to break free of them and give his brother one last kick. The broken body of Wales was badly beaten. Multiple bruises covered his body, and England stared at him, watching his chest rise and fall gently. _

_ "I decided that if was best if I moved on," he said slowly. "Moved on from the ridiculous feelings that I had before. I would be the only one getting hurt, otherwise. I still have that scar you gave me, when we fought last two centuries ago. I…have his scar as well, and it hurts more than yours ever will." Against his will, the old emotions still stirred within him. A feeling of helplessness as he was ordered to attack his enemy, seeing those blue eyes mocking him as he fell and then refused to fight. The jeers of his brothers, the feeling of loneliness and despair growing within him as he saw the lone smile on the blond face. Why, thought his younger, more naïve self. _

_Why must we fight? I…want to be… Suddenly he looked up and could see France's face, his expression burning into his mind as he felt the sharp sword against his side. …I want to be with France. He had been the physical age of ten years old. The first war that he had fought was when multiple of his bosses and fought for the crown. They had demanded he fight. "Where is the honor of war if a nation is not with his citizens?" Maude had stated with a critical eye on the young nation. "Your childhood ends now, little nation." England had no idea what she had meant until he had fought in the battle with France. Until he had received three wounds. One from an arrow from his brother Wales. Another wound that became another scar across his arm from his oldest brother. The wound from France had hurt the most of all, the one that still burned when he thought of the former nation who smiled with beautiful sky blue eyes. _

_ It was when that England had heard that France had made an alliance with Scotland that England realized he was weak. He was now physically thirteen years old, and he had to grow up. "I will no longer see you as my brother, Wales." England whispered. "You will simply be a pathetic nation who bowed down to me. I will...remember this day. The bonds I had with you cease to exist, and Franc…and France will, forever, be my enemy."_

_ No one noticed as a pink hue started to overtake England's eyes as he spoke. His hair slowly tamed as he whispered, "Leave Wales in the torture chamber. I want to hear him scream_."

England lied against the stone floor with haunted eyes. Had he truly said those words? Did he truly hear his brother scream for months on end and felt pleasure for it? Vomit almost escaped from him. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened as the memories – because that is what they were – burned into his mind. He beat his brother to a bloody pulp because of the mere mention of France! _How…_ England wondered. _How could I have…?_ He remembered the pain of agony that actually almost drowned him when France allied with bloody Scotland. He remembered laughing at the message at first, shouting at the page to find another more pleasant joke. The king had screamed at him for being such a stupid and naïve nation. "Look with your own two eyes and see, you useless nation!" It had occurred to him then that France wasn't truly his friend. He…wasn't truly, and it had hurt so bloody much.

It was then that England took his position as a nation seriously. No more bonds. No more pleasant thoughts of the times that were now dead. Somehow though, the memory of France and the young boy who had introduced him to so much lived within him. The mention of the friendship – and something more perhaps, England had thought while drunk centuries later, continued to plague him. Something within him, no matter the century, continued to plague the nation of the memories, which was why…

England felt himself falling into the water, falling down the abyss of the clear world, and felt himself drift away. He reached out his hand, but did he truly deserve to be saved? Did he truly…? The images of Wales with his bloody face, Ireland crawling to his knees and begging him as his ribs brushed against his worn clothes, and India's people dead, refused to let go. Just as England was about to let go, he felt a strong arm reach out for his and pulled him.

Coughing and spluttering as his lungs hacked, England stared as water leaked into his eyes. He felt cold. The water now soaked his entire being, the clothes stuck to his back, heavy against his body. England felt himself thrown to the ground again, agony seeping through his head again as his head cracked to the ground. England coughed, feeling the water spill out of his lungs and heard his rattling breath.

_"Igirisu-san?"_

England gasped and saw figure wearing a familiar kimono. His obsidian eyes, far from the caring and concealed expression that England was used to, saw only emptiness and despair. The dark hair was askew with several stray hairs against his forehead. What shocked England that most though was his voice. It sounded…hollow.

Empty, without anything that could make it right again.

"Japan?"

The only person who he could show his true self to didn't answer.

* * *

Wales was fully conquered by the English in 1294. Although the Auld Alliance took place a year later, in my timeline the alliance was ratified a couple years earlier because I wanted to show of how France's actions caused England to "become a nation" and treat his brother Wales similar to an inferior being. I believe he was truly hurt by France's actions, and I think that the France's alliance with his brother made him change violently into the nation we know. The time when he fought with France when they were children was a civil war in the twelfth century in England, during the years of 1135 to 1154.


	12. Memory XII

_"Igirisu-san?"_

Japan watched with hollowed eyes as he witnessed his fellow nation cough and gasp for breath as he was carried out of the tub. He could see through his despair-held eyes that the dripping nation was not well. Water soaked through his clothes and labored breath escaped from him. The streams for liquid seeped into his eyes, making the emerald jades swollen with red. At the sound of his name, the blond Englishman turned, and a stunned expression echoed across his pale face.

"Japan?"

Japan almost started, hearing his country name again. For hours on end, he had been tormented and ravaged by Kuro. The hollow nation witnessed England-_san _start at the image of Kuro, bearing his twin katana blades and wearing the black naval uniform smelling of blood. The counterpart nation was standing completely still as he watched the two weak nations with his blood-red eyes. At the thought of blood, Japan closed his eyes tightly and in vain tried to cease the images burning in his mind. _Please… _the dark-haired nation thought as the memories continued to drain his mind of the light that had once seeped into being. He saw the swords, dripping blood with entrails and heard blood-curling screams. Bodies, with their eyes cut out of the eye sockets and their faces a horror of blood and wounds. Their breasts cut off. Gasoline being poured onto them, and the flames dancing in his mind. _"Anata no tsumi..." _Kuro whispered as Japan shook and trembled as tears filled in his eyes. _Watashi no tsumi wa… _Japan blankly looked at the ceiling and could only see the dark cracks inside them.

"Japan?" The nation almost hyperventilated at the feeling of England-_san_'s hand on his own. Kuro had touched him before. Cold and unemotional as he gripped his hands in his, or cupping his face as he morosely spoke to him after a memory. The Asian nation stared blankly at the English nation, noting of how dark blood was soaked into the clothing, near his abdomen. Japan had no such injuries. Kuro had been generous to him in that regard. "How…are you here?"

"The same as you, England-_san_." Japan's voice seeped with emptiness as he stared at his friend. "I was kidnapped by my…counterpart." Japan saw England-_san _look briefly at Kuro before staring back at him. _"Anata wa…?"_

_ "Daijōbu desu."_ Despite of the current situation, the Englishman smiled. Japan allowed himself a brief moment of peace at the thought of hearing his language again that was not of pain or sorrow. Although it had been over one hundred years since both nations had officially met, England-_san_ had proven to be a good companion in the nineteen years they had personally known each other. Although Japan would not acknowledge it to himself, it was only when their alliance had ended that the Asian nation had realized his longing for companionship.

The brief meetings with other nations – including the bloody battlefield he had met Russia – had not provided that archipelago with the satisfaction as he had with England-_san_. The nation had taught him English and despite of being opposite sides during the war, the island nation was the first to forgive him in the years following the time when America-_san_ lived at his house. _I was…grateful that he wanted to know bits and pieces about my language. He was…very good at it, and it felt so good to hear someone similar to us speak my language. He's remembering too, isn't he? _Japan thought as England-_san _continued to smile thinly.

"Do you remember…" the Englishman stated slowly. Japan swallowed, noting Kuro observing them carefully as the island nation continued to speak. "When you came to my house after you and China argued again?"

_"Hai." _Japan remembered that day. It had been raining in London, and the small Asian nation thought that the dark clouds and the rain suited his mood. The inhabitants of London stared at the strange young-looking man wearing a gray kimono and sandals made out straw, but paid him no mind as rain pelted down his face. _China… _Japan had thought as he stepped into a puddle, the wetness soaking through his feet. The long-haired nation had yelled at him when one of Japan's politicians had stated that the Nanjing Massacre was a fabrication and was a product of the Chinese anti-Japanese education.

The nations both had stated words that should not have been said, but the argument had shaken the former calm and collected nation. There were times when the archipelago could not continue to hide the scars and the pain of the devastated estrangement he had with his former siblings. It hurt so much, more so the fact that Okinawa was one of his siblings who hated him for his actions in the past. Japan stared blankly at the cell phone in his hand. America-_san _would not understand, as the superpower was beyond holding any hatred inside him. Japan thought about Germany-_san _as well, but dismissed it. Although his older brother annoyed him greatly and slept in his basement, Germany-_san _cared very much for his brother and cried when the country was taken away to Russia-_san_'s house. Prussia-_san _was also overprotective of his _"awesome" _little brother, especially since the end of the war that haunted all three of the nation's dreams.

Japan had realized that England-_san _would be able to understand him very well, as the relationship between the brothers was known to be very…destructive. England-_san _had found him dripping wet and his hair plastered to his forehead, the rain streaking down his face almost looking like tears.

"You told me that…I needed to forgive myself before they could forgive me," the dark-haired nation whispered. His eyes bored into England-_san_'s, remembering the serious and solemn face that had plagued England-_san_'s face that day. "And then I asked you, among other things, why you presented your true self to me, when the other nations perceive you as a nation who cares nothing except himself."

_"I…don't know, Japan." There was a faint blush in England-_san_'s cheeks. "We're both…island nations, I suppose. We don't have very good relationships with our family, and I guess that's why." Sadness and torment flowed through his eyes. "I…presented myself as a nation who cares only for his people and only for himself, and that has protected me throughout the centuries." He took a breath, his expression pensive. "By the time I lost my empire, everyone else expected me to behave the way I have, and…I couldn't show them the human I am inside."_

_ Japan observed closely as his friend observed the various books around the walls. Many of the books written by his citizens, his emerald eyes locked onto on in particular. "You are different, Japan." England-san's voice echoed throughout the room. "You are a person that can see the truth in the person, and I suppose it was…nice to not lie anymore."_

_ "What about France-san?"_

_ Immediately the European nation stared hard at Japan, his thick eyebrows furrowing._

_ "What the bloody hell about that frog?"_

_ Japan kept his voice calm. "You have known France-san for many years, England-san. I'm certain…he knows how you feel." The nation paused at the sight of the solemn expression and the expression of…_longing _on his face._

_ "I wish I could." The nation's voice was bitter. "He would only laugh at me, and I…don't know if he would accept my true feelings."_

_ "Asa..." Japan whispered. Suddenly his eyes widened when he realized what he had murmured. The blushing Japanese could not look at the fellow nation._

_ "What did you call me?" England-san's voice was not angry as Japan had expected. Instead, he appeared bewildered. _

_ "Asa…is the Japanese pronunciation of your human name." Japan lifted his eyes to meet England-san's, and was relieved to find the fellow nation calm when he had finished speaking. He watched hesitantly as the blond murmured the name under his lips, and nodded after a couple of moments._

_ "I like it." Japan stared as England-san allowed a small smile on his face. "How do you know my human name though?" At Japan's anxious expression, the blond nation gave a sigh and grumbled about bloody frogs, wine, and cheese. A couple of moments neither of them said anything. "It's better than what that goddamn America calls me," the nation whispered through gritted teeth. _

_ Somehow Japan found himself softly laughing._

"Japan." The dark-eyed nation turned towards his friend, observing the graveness of his tone. "We have to –"

_"Hanasanaide kudasai." _Japan breathed in his fear as he felt Kuro place his hand on England-_san_'s shoulder. The nation's red eyes sought Japan's and the counterpart felt a dark feeling envelop inside him. His hands trembled. Before he could speak, Kuro aimed a kick at England-_san_'s stomach. A harsh gasp echoed through the room as Japan saw the nation grasp his stomach, spittle trickling down his mouth as his eyes clouded with pain. Kuro moved forward, and a sickening crack exploded through the air as Japan watched in horror as England-_san _fell awkwardly on the ground as blood seeped through the deep cut across his hairline.

"England-_san_!" Japan slowly stood and aimed his dark glance at Kuro. "Stop this now," he stated coldly as his counterpart moved towards the prone nation. "This has to do with me, Kuro! Not him!"

"Allow me to bring memories in your broken mind, and I will stop this." Japan recoiled in horror, his breathing immediately becoming uneven at the scarred memories returned to him. _The scent of death…burning flesh…the emaciated bodies, of children crying as their heads were cut from their shoulders…the screams…_

The scent of blood continued to waft in the air as Kuro continued to aim blows at the blond nation. Japan watched numbly as England did not attempt to defend himself despite of the blood and bruises forming as he watched, motionless and unable to move as he watched England-_san _get beaten.

_Yamete kudasai. _Kuro did not hear him. _Onegaishimasu. _England-_san_'s hair was turning red, and Japan forced himself not to look into his eyes as the memories of the war refused to leave him. _Onegai…kore o okonaimasen. _Tears began to fill Japan's eyes as moans of pain burned in his mind. _Asa… _he thought as he thought of the proud Englishman that was now being beaten beneath his feet. _Asa…!_

_ "Onegai, _Kuro." The nation turned to find Japan pale and trembling with tears streaking down his cheeks. _"Yamete…kudasai. Watashi wa…" _Japan choked, noting of how England-_san _lied eerily still. _"Watashi wa totemo…yowai desu. Onegai…" _Japan felt his tears warm his cold cheeks. He felt them falling into his mouth, thick and tasting similar to something he had tasted before. Koru's long hands found his cheek, softly caressing before holding a fist of his dark hair in his hands before placing a hand against his forehead.

_Kobayashi Seishi walked allow the road. His dark eyes revealed nothing of the hatred they held inside. He mindlessly bowed to the other residents of his dirt-poor village, thinking of other thoughts. From the time he was twenty-one years old, Kobayashi Seishi had been in the military. He had no choice. Since the Meiji period began, generations of young men had been taught their patriotic duty lied in defending their country. Seishi had tried to escape the grasp of the life of a farmer, for that was what the generations of his family had toiled for. Dying young, illiterate, and never knowing their own happiness. Seishi had hoped to escape that, but it was futile. _

_He was now on the path that his father had taken, and of his grandfather before him. He had been told that the peasants and those who suffered during the Tokugawa era were free, and have their own happiness, but Seishi knew the truth. His handsome face turned into a snarl. There was no freedom for the farmers or the fisherman. There was no freedom for anyone who had the misfortune of being born into a family of farmers. Seishi could have easily taken the path his father had taken shortly before he died, dying with blood coated against his face and his body impossibly thin from the disease that had taken him. The sight of the blood reminded Seishi of another memory as his mother wailed and his younger siblings were eerily silent. The blood of the fallen. His father's body hadn't been the first time that Seishi had seen a dead body. There had been many. The young man remembered of holding his friend in his arms, pleading with him to not leave him in this hell alone. The blood and the guts leaking out of him smeared against his uniform as bodies of the dead were burned. Seishi remembered only the feeling of emptiness when his friend's body had been burned before his eyes. _

_The emptiness continued to gouge him as he witnessed the execution of Chinese villagers, their heads falling like rotten pumpkins, and hearing the cries of starving infants. Women, with their clothes torn and sobbing desperately as their bodies were held down as the man raped her, and the sight of blood and screams clouding his mind. He hated the war. He hated the war so much that he wanted to go back to his suicidal and back-breaking work of being a farmer. The service of being in the military was over, and Seishi was supposed to follow the path that had been planted since his birth._

_However…_

_He had heard about the assassination attempt on the Emperor. He had been riding in his carriage when a bullet had missed his skull. Seishi had thought of those who attempted to assassinate the Emperor as fools…until he had experienced every hell imaginable. The scent of death and the bodies in mass graves made his insomnia even more omnipotent. Seishi had heard from his superior that the Emperor wasn't the only man in the carriage. There was also another. Wearing a dark blue kimono, with emotionless eyes and hair as dark as the darkness that filled him. Seishi had no idea who that person was until he had asked his father about it. "That person is…Japan." Seishi hadn't realized there were such a thing as nations. He didn't realize of how people were the personification of the nation he was required to love. The young man thought about the appearance of a young spectator standing in the audience during the trials of those young men. _

_I hate him. Seishi had thought he had experienced hatred before, but he was wrong. The hatred inside him _burned _and cut him apart as he thought about the one man who was responsible for the cause of everything that was not right. I hate him so much… How? How can he live with himself for what he has done? What he _continues _to do? How can he not feel the sadness and despair and misery of his people? Seishi did not care about the corruption of his country. He simply wanted that man dead. _

_For existing and for making his existence a living hell._

_Seishi walked softly as he neared toward his destination. According to his late father, Japan lived secluded in the mountains near their village. His father had described the nation as a kind person, as someone who deeply loved their people, but Seishi couldn't – wouldn't – understand what his father was talking about. The surroundings were encased by cherry blossoms. Seishi felt them against his face, the petals soft against his hard tanned skin. He could see other flowers as well, blooming in the spring. The house was small. Small enough that those who passed by understood that only one man lived there. Seishi stared at the sky, the clouds nonexistent and the sun shining in the sky. A perfect day for a death, the young man thought. He opened the door. _

_Immediately Seishi smelled the fragrance of tea and plum blossoms. He didn't remove his shoes. He saw traditional pictures of the sea and nature throughout the seasons, noting of the clean tatami mats and of the flowers above a simple table. Seishi looked ahead, determination welling inside of him as he continued to walk inside the house. Suddenly, the young man was motionless. Singing? He thought. The former soldier turned his head to the sound, hearing a voice. Seishi thought for a brief moment that the voice sounded soothing, almost too beautiful for his ears. Seishi recognized the song, knowing the melody. As he walked closer as the words filled in his mind, Seishi thought of how human the sound was to a…monster who did nothing but cause pain and torment._

_The sword felt light in his hands. Seishi breathed deeply, forgetting the beautiful voice and of the kind man his father stated that his victim had been. Seishi thought about the horrors he had experienced and of the villagers that would die before they could experience happiness or laughter. I hate him. Seishi slide the shoji screen, holding his breath. Sitting before him was a man wearing a white kimono, holding a cup of tea in his hands as he suddenly stopped and stared at the young hatred-filled man before him. His mouth remained open and his eyes, once so serene, became shocked and frightened at the aura the man presented._

"_Japan." The cup shattered to the ground, spilling tea over the nation's arms. The nation didn't seem to be aware of the burns across his arms, however. He simply stared at the young man holding a sword, pointing it at his head. "It ends here."_

_Seishi allowed himself a smile at the sight of Japan looking very afraid. _

"_Shine!" The sword would not reach him no matter how fast he was. The nation kept on dodging him, evading him, as if he had been a samurai many centuries ago. Later, when Seishi felt his life's blood leak onto the floor as the nation looked at him with impossibly wide eyes, despair and helpless echoing in those dark depths, the young man's last memory was of looking at the sword buried in his chest, the entire uniform stained red._

"You have nothing to say?" Kuro continued to stare at Japan's face. The nation was simply staring at nothing, the emptiness returning in his eyes. His arms lied limply by his sides, his expression never changing. Kuro pulled his hair and lifted his face towards his own. "Nothing to say, Kiku?"

Japan continued to breathe as despair suddenly mounted within him. _"Watashi…watashi no…" _He swallowed, feeling vomit reach his throat. "My people…tried to…"

"Kill you, yes." Kuro stated flatly. Japan continued to swallow, attempting to breathe as despair suddenly took his breath. A scream suddenly surged through him. The Japanese nation felt nothing but of the feeling of emptiness and despair as flashes of what he had seen tore through his mind.

"I…killed him," Japan whispered. His entire body started to shake. "I…killed my own…"

"You did." Kuro did not change his emotionless expression as his counterpart continued to unevenly breathe. He saw those weak eyes widen and begin to tear, noting of how the nation unconsciously broke his skin by pushing his nails into his face.

"I…"

"You think everyone forgives you for what you did?" Kuro stated dully as Japan continued to unravel. "You think that your nations forgive you, even if your own people tried to kill you?" He smiled, a dangerous and sickening smile. "No one does. No one ever did." He crouched down to the nation. "Everyone hates you. No one…wants you around, my dear pathetic Kiku." He softly cupped the nation's wet cheek. "They want you dead. They want you dead as your dear citizen did one hundred years ago." Kuro leaned his mouth close and whispered, "including Heracles."

"Hera…cles…" Japan softly whispered. His voice was almost inaudible. His throat almost closed up. Tears were streaming down his face.

"You understand…Kiku?" Japan didn't flinch at the smile Kuro gave him. "No one wants you to exist. _Anata wa…nanimonai._"

"_Nanimonai_…" The voice was a choked whisper, cracking. His vision was gone. All he could see…were memories. Suddenly Japan began to scream. His screams echoed against the wall, making the occupants almost deaf. The screams that came from him screamed of despair and anguish and of deep helplessness that Japan had never thought possible. As he continued to scream as tears flowed down his cheeks, as his screams tore through his throat, Japan had no idea who he was. _What…is this? _he thought. _What…is going on? I…don't…understand…what is this…?_

Japan didn't feel Kuro behind him. He didn't hear the screams of someone calling his name as the katana cut off his head from his body.

* * *

_Anata wa nanimonai - _I am nothing.

_Daijoubu desu - _I am fine.

_Hanasaide kudasai_ \- Don't speak.

_Kore o okonaimasen_ \- Please don't do this.

_Onegaishimasu _\- Please.

_Shine - _Die

_Watashi wa totemo yowai desu - _I am very weak.


	13. Memory XIII

**Warning! Scenes of graphic rape!**

* * *

"Japan!" England's widened emerald eyes continued to stare, stunned, at the scene before him. His breathing was becoming uneven, rasping as he remembered screaming the dark-haired nation's name as blood-curling screams emerged through the nation's throat. _I have never heard such a scream before… _England thought at the present moment as his dull eyes stared at the blood gathering on the floor. The nation almost vomited, swallowing heavily as his gaze met Japan's decapitated head. _What…did he see…? _"Japan!" _He's not dead, he can't be! _The sound of the katana cutting flesh echoed the living nightmare in England's mind, and his breathing ceased for a moment as he remembered the spray of blood, thick and the darkest red, coating the floor and the walls. The head of his friend…rolling on the ground, a scream still upon his lips. _We're nations! _"Japan, wake up!" The body wouldn't heal. It simply continued to bleed, with the decapitated head still and pale. "Japan, please!" Desperation was clogging England's voice, tears almost running down his cheeks. "Japan, answer –!"

"Quiet yourself." A blood-soaked katana came into England's vision as it lied against his chest. "Or do you want the same thing to happen to you?" England stilled. His dull eyes continued to stare at the nation, the empty dark eyes echoing in his own. England had seen nations die before. Bloody hell, the memory of Yugoslavia's tears and pleads as he died burned into his mind despite the many decades past his death. _This though…is different. _England's erratic mind sobered as he remembered of how he had heard Japan's ghastly tears, almost tearing his heart into little tiny pieces, and saw tears running down the Asian nation's cheeks. England had started to scream his name then, for he had not seen the former calm and serene nation cry before. England felt himself lifted up by his arm, the pain dulling throughout his body as the blond stared at the figure covered in blood. _Japan…_

"He'll be fine," Oliver said cheerfully as England began to shake. Kuro, the counterpart nation to Japan, began to wash his sword, the emptiness of his red eyes not leaving England's as a spot of blood trickled down his face. "It takes more than a decapitation to kill him. See?" Oliver's sweet voice vibrated through the room as England's heavy breath became more feverish as Japan's body – including his head – behind. All that remained was the pool of blood. Oliver continued to smile, tracing England's jaw with his fingers. "I can't wait to see the despair and agony on your face, my Arthur." His white teeth showed, glowing and looking like naked bone. "I cannot wait…"

England opened his mouth to speak, but found that his body refused to respond as England's eyes bored into Oliver's own, seeing only a violent swirl of pink.

* * *

_"France!" England yelled, parrying another blow. "Stop this madness!" His enemy's uniform was stained with blood. The cloth was in tatters, the present cravat stained with so much blood England thoughtlessly wondered if it had ever been pure white. "France!" The blue eyes the color of the sky did not stare back at him. Instead, it was as dark and forbidden as the ocean England feared above all else._

_ "Stop?" For once France was speaking English. The accent England had expected was absent, and the fellow blond nation appeared to be bewildered, instead of angry. "Why, my friend?"_

_ The term of endearment caused a ripple of anger to pierce through England, and his cold hands shook as he held his sword. "Why? You tried to invade us, you pompous bastard! You invaded Spain's house, and your stupid self tried to even - !" _

_ "Invade?" France's voice quieted and his octave deepened. "Is that what you English refer to the French simply taking what is rightfully theirs?" He suddenly became to sneer, and a cold fear began to surge through the nation before him as hysterical laughter erupted from his lips. "Napoleon is my savior, you stupid Englishman. Have you not realized it? Of how –"_

_ "Your head must be badly damaged from Russia's pipe, otherwise you would know that your Napoleon has been defeated!" England waited for France to reply with a small smile and would begin to obscenely flirt with the shorter nation. It didn't come. Instead, England watched with increasing horror as thick tears began to flow from France's eyes and his voice increase in rage and volume._

_ "That is not true! My beloved empire will continue to grow and prosper with you groveling at my feel! It will be soaked with blood in the name of our glorious emperor and _my _people will be victorious!"_

_ "France." England stated evenly. He lowered his sword. His emerald green eyes began to darken in sadness as his enemy continued to rave and scream. "You've lost. Belgium's here. My brother is here as well. Even Prussia." At the sound of his friend's name, France turned and his mouth gaped. "Yes," England stated drily. "Even crazy war-obsessed Prussia has realized you're mad. And…" England turned, staring at France with growing disgust and contempt, "I think he would want to kill you for what you did, France." The taller blond nation didn't seem to respond, causing anger to rise in the English nation and he grabbed the blood-soaked cravat. "How could you kill one of our own, France? How could you, seeing your so-called friend sobbing like a child?" England continued, his words dissolving as rage continued to increase. "How could you, knowing he had someone –"_

_ "I will be the new empire!" France roared. His blows became careless, barely blocking England's own as they began to spar again. "It is my time now! And no one gets in my way!" _

_ England gasped as his foot slipped on blood, falling and seeing the crazed look in France's eyes. Is this how I look…? England wondered as he stared at the bloodshot empty eyes. A shout clogged in his throat as blood splattered over his uniform as the blade cut across his chest. England struggled, trying to move as France's taller and heavier body slammed against his own. A knife eased against his throat, blood seeping from the small cut. England stared at France's expression. His eyes appeared calm, and his sword clattered by his side. But something was wrong. England stiffened as he felt France's hand on his thigh._

_ "I will humiliate you!" A rip. "I will make you cry and scream and die inside as I take what is mine!" England's stomach plummeted, desperately clawing at France's hands as the laughter filled in his ears. "I will make you pay for what you did to me!" _

_ "France!" A scream was clogging in England's throat. "France, stop!" England felt his uniform being ripped, the red being torn to pieces and the gold buttons falling all over the ground. "France!" A heaving pale chest remained as England continued to try to scratch as heavy and hysterical laughter continued to fill his ears. "Please!" His pleads fell on deaf ears as France continued to rest his hands on his thigh, the once white pants turning red as they were ripped in two and scattered over the ground. "Please…" _

_England was now naked to the French nation, feeling his thin shoulder soak into the muddy ground and fear, deathly fear gripping him as held a knife to his throat. Soon enough France was nude as well, his grin shaking whatever composer England had left. Hot urine dripped down his legs, a soundless moan leaving him as England attempted to stand. France continued to watch him, an amused smirk around his lips. England whimpered at the sight, and took only a few steps before France's heavy body collided against his own, the breath leaving him and feeling his entire ribs crack. England felt France's arousal against his hip, biting his lip when he felt himself being turned over and seeing the Frenchman's wide smile. _

_ "This is for Jeanne." England bit back a scream as he felt blood coat across his chest as France slashed his knife across his flesh. _

_ "I thought…you…back then…" England whispered weakly._

_ "That was a lie, mon petit lapin." England's mouth gaped, hearing the hysterical laughter as his mind remembered when France had called him such a name. It struck fear in him, and England started to hoarsely scream as France's grip tightened around his shoulders. "No one is here, Arthur. No one. No one cares if I fuck you or not." France's mouth slightly lowered onto England's, the white face similar to death as England tried desperately to breathe. He felt the nation's breath, smelling…smoke? England continued to plead, despite the smiling face of the Frenchman across his own. "No one cares if you live or you die, mon ami. They hate you. All of them." England's breath seemed to cease. France continues to smile. "You...should have died a long time ago…England."_

_ The feeling of cold rain across his body and of the blood flowing where he lay did nothing to heal his empty heart. In the back of his mind, England felt the aches throughout his body. His neck, black and blue bruises around the flesh, blood flowing from one bite too deep. His chest, bite marks with blood stains and darkened bruises, his nipples almost torn off and oozing more blood. The rain did nothing to heal the wounds. The pain registered in his mind, but England did not feel it. The blood flowing onto the ground similar to the streams that he had once played in as a child through his mind as his empty and dead heart continued to beat. His blond hair lied against his face, obscuring his hollow green eyes. England didn't know how long France had raped him. It had have been minutes, or hours. He couldn't tell. _

_He only remembered France looking down at him, a smile on his face and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead that England was too broken to resist. His back, blood and mud coating the blue uniform, was the last England had seen of him. England continued to lie in the mud, feeling his wounds bleed and throb, emptiness filling him. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't even despair. He remembered only screaming, his screams almost causing his vocal cords to snap as violent sobs and French echoed in his mind. The despair and sadness he felt when his former little brother America had left him had not been present. His grief and loneliness upon his mother's death had not appeared. "I should have never taken care of you." _

_Those hard words, burned through England's mind as he attempted to stand. A blood-curling scream almost left his mouth at the burning and sharp agony as he tried to stand, blood flowing from his legs as he fell onto the ground. "I should have left you to die." England felt his eyes closing, his mouth slightly open as he felt rain fall into his mouth. "The small crying infant you had been should have died." England shakily stood, breathing through his nose as he grabbed the mud remains of his uniform. It was agony to put the clothes on again, and England suppressed another scream as blood continued to drip onto his blood-stained trousers as he walked. "Rome should have killed you when he had a chance." England remembered of violent sobs that had escaped from him, and of the screams of pleading – in the French…that had been taught to him – that had burned in his broken fucked-up mind. _

_ England felt nothing. He was…an empty shell._

* * *

"I had nightmares for weeks." Oliver stated monotonelessly. His eyes, once again emerald, echoed against the broken mirror of England's own. "Jean threatened to kill me if…I didn't stop screaming." For a moment Oliver was silent, his solemn eyes staring in the darkness. "You know, it's funny. You and I…never speak French unless…we are too desperate and are in too much despair to remember anything else. The language…that was once healing and a balm for us…became something from a nightmare." Softly, Oliver cupped England's still face. "_Your _nightmare."

"Fran…cis…" England whispered breathlessly, his eyes empty. "Fr…an…cis…"

"You haven't stated his human name in a long time, haven't you?" Oliver said this almost sweetly and closed his eyes slowly as England's eyes continued to impossibly widen. "Not since…you were in Rome's…no, after that." He spoke calmly as England's mind began to become broken shards. "It was when…_that _alliance was signed, yes?"

It was then that England began to scream. The screams increased as tears streaked down his cheeks, falling onto the floor as the echo of the memory burned. The screams continued and continued as England only became aware of the dark empty space in him. Oliver whispered for him to shut up, but England didn't hear him. He was only aware of feeling the agony and impossible pain as he witnessed the pleasure in France's eyes, and of the blood streaking from the wounds. Those words that had forgotten…desperately wanted to forget. _"You should have died a long time ago…England." _

The screams were silenced as England's trachea was snapped and his lifeless body fell to the ground like a doll.


	14. Memory XIV

"You're dating Japan, aru?!"

France sighed. _Trust China to make an outburst. He acts as if he knows Japan, as if there was still no barrier between them. But…it has been decades, if not centuries…since they have really talked. _France's blue eyes observed of how Greece was eerily calm as he faced the strangely hysterical Chinese nation. _Like _Anglettere_…and his brothers._ At the thought of the blond nation, France's body stiffened and his heart clenched at the memory of hearing those screams and the sickening crack of bone. _It's over, _he kept on repeating to himself. _It's over. We will rescue _Anglettere _and Japan and then I'll… _The scenes kept playing in his mind however. His oldest enemy, bleeding and weak as that Oliver laughed and spoke so softly. France's nails dug deeper and deeper in his nails at the thought, when there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Papa?" The sweet sugar-coated voice France knew more than anyone echoed in plane. France looked across from him to find his _cher fils _Canada looking at him with a concerned expression. "Papa…" the Canadian gulped and the two violet eyes bored deeply into France's blue. "You need to stop this. You haven't been the same since England –" Suddenly Canada stopped speaking and refused to look at the nation who raised him. "I worry for England too, as do all the nations in the room." France briefly looked up to see America staring solemnly at the clouds and Iraq quietly praying. "I miss the _père _who flirted with the other nations unashamedly and carried too many roses that he pricked himself much to his shame, and talked about love so romantically." Tears were starting to appear in Canada's eyes, and France started to feel shame welling in his chest. "I miss the way you look at England, Papa." France's eyes widened at the statement, even more so when Canada continued to smile. "I was taught by the best to recognize _amour_," he stated more quietly to himself than France. "England's the reason why you're like this, isn't it, Papa?"

_"O-oui." _France swallowed and sadness drowned in his eyes as he looked at his adopted son_. "Je suis desole. Je…" _His voice faltered for a moment and he closed his eyes in an attempt to collect his emotions. "It is true that I do in fact care for _Anglettere_…truly…but I do not care for him in the way you think." The French nation thought he saw a brief look of disappointment in Canada's gaze, but it disappeared before France could peer even closer. "He is my oldest enemy and…I cannot simply leave him after seeing him in the state we saw."

It took a moment for Canada to nod, and then both of them were in their own thoughts once again. France was staring at the ceiling when there was suddenly a shout.

"If you hadn't hurt Kiku, none of this would have happened!"

_Kiku? _France peered to find Greece being restrained by Turkey and shouting obscenities in Greek. _It certainly has escalated. _China and his various siblings were standing beside each other, rage and grief from the Greek nation's words as he started to shout again.

"Do you have any of you know what you do to him?" The once sleepy nation carrying kittens had disappeared and a tall man with burning eyes and a sharp tone remained. "Do you?" Greece didn't note of increased grip Turkey had on him. "I come to his house to see him subdued and unable to speak, unable to find comfort in me." Greece's mouth formed into a snarl as he stared at the three siblings. "Because of some_ fucking_ war that took place a century ago! His country has suffered! Do you not see his scars? He can barely sleep sometimes! Do you not hear his cries during the night –?"

"This conversation does not concern you, you uncultured European." China's voice was clipped and glared at the Grecian. "How many of my people have died because the actions of my – of Japan? I hear them…despite the passage of time. My children were murdered and raped and died in the worst way possible. I do not care about your feelings." Suddenly his anger showed. "My country –"

"Should let go of the past and move on." The nations turned and found Australia standing with the absence of his koala. The light freckles sprinkled across his face contrasted to the heavy expression the former colony of England had. "My colonization was a long time ago." The nation shrugged. He pointedly ignored the furious expression echoing across China's and South Korea's faces. Taiwan appeared impassive. "Mum apologized for his actions more than I can count. It…was almost funny seeing him crawl on his knees and bow to me." A brief smile appeared on the dark brown haired nation's face before his green eyes narrowed at the figure of China. "I once resented my brother as much as you do to you yours, but I tell you mate, it does nothing good."

_"Resent?" _China almost choked on that word. "You haven't nearly experienced enough as me, you ignorant barbarian! England corrupted you as he did to Hong Kong!" Suddenly the temperature in the room seemed to cool, and France could see anger increasing in Australia's expression. "The actions of the parent reflect on the child, and that _hundan Yingguo _should be ashamed of the state of his children! Your tragedies of the past pale in comparison –"

"How about someone who has lived longer than you, China?" China froze, his dark brown eyes widening in shock as the almost monotone voice of Iraq spoke.

"I remember you when you were very young, China." The nation's white robes clashed with the rapidly whitening face of the younger nation he was speaking directly to. "You have committed atrocities as well, some in the very mind of humans. Do you want me to make you remember?" Iraq continued, ignoring the fact that the long-haired nation was shaking and staring at him in growing fear. "Do you not remember when –? "

South Korea started barking at Iraq in Korean. The turban-clothed nation narrowed his eyes and was about to speak before a cigar was lit and Scotland began to speak.

"My brother invaded my lands and made me his slave…as he did with Wales and Ireland." The Scotsman frowned, his eyes finding Northern Ireland's. The young nation did not look away under his scrutiny, although France could see her anger from what had been spoken in her eyes. "The list doesn't end there. I…will never forget when Wales came home one day with horrific scars on his body." Scotland gritted his teeth. "Ireland almost died because of that Englishman. He got us involved in wars that we had no interest in, and our people died from them." Beside him, Ireland glowered and Wales' face hardened. "Even though he is my brother, we don't know if some actions can be forgiven. Even in situations such…as this."

"You told _Angleterre _that Rome should have killed him!" France stood, unable to bear the sleeping exasperation and anger growing inside him. "How can that be forgiven, your sodden excuse of a nation?" The nations collectively gasped. None of them had heard France speak to any nation that way, even during the bloodiest of wars with his oldest enemy. At the corner of his eye, France could see Spain shaking his head. _He grew up with Rome as well. And he would know…_

"Piss off!" Scotland stamped out his cigar. "As if you're one to talk! Don't you remember our alliance?" At France's shocked expression, Scotland continued. "You should have heard him. Screaming and destroying the halls and using his magic indiscriminately. Wales was beaten half to death and was put in the dungeons for purposely making an alliance with me!"

"He said that he was betrayed." Wales voice was calm as he spoke to the stunned Frenchman. "No, more than that. He was destroyed. I can hear the screams and feel my ribs break even as I speak about this." Suddenly one pale finger pointed at France. "You've done terrible things to him to him in the past, France. Remember the invasion of 1060? And I thought...you truly cared about him, knowing our pasts."

France gulped. He vividly remembered gloating about his alliance with Scotland, to his boss and the other nation himself. He remembered the wine, tasting sweeter than normal and imagining the look of defeat on that bastard _Angleterre_'s face. He couldn't imagine the nation losing control of his magic, which he had honed since he could barely speak, and beating one of his brothers half to death, blood coating on the floor.

"What about Iggy's past?" The tension in the room was forgotten by America's question. The superpower looked at the older ones in confusion. "Did you make an alliance with Scotland to get away from his cooking?" If it were any other time, France would have laughed and would have teased _Angleterre_, relishing of how his cute blush burned across his cheeks.

_"Non." _France's voice was subdued and his expression still held the grief after so many centuries. "When…_Angleterre _was very young, before he became a nation in fact, he was always chased away and got hit with arrows and rocks from his brothers." Northern Ireland listened with a knowing expression, the history very familiar to her as she had heard many arguments about this in the past. "He used to run to me all the time, as if I was…" France's voice increased in volume. "I still can't believe that you would blame a death on a child after all the time we time spent together." His voice was cold. "His mother –"

"Mother?" Not only America, but several nations, particularly the younger ones, appeared stunned and gaped. "I thought nations didn't have parents," America whispered in a hoarse whisper.

"Most don't." Now it was Greece who spoke. His head was bowed, and the heaviness of his words echoed in the plane. "Most of the nations simply appear, raised and nurtured by the influences of different older nations. But…" Greece paused. "Some nations are born. Ancient Greece…Ancient Egypt…and Britannia were among nations who gave birth to several nations who became their successors."

"So…England was the successor of Britannia?" Canada whispered.

France nodded. "He was." His expression softened at the memory of the beautiful woman with long blond hair and emerald eyes, carrying a basket full of herbs. "Even if she knew that he was going to succeed her as the personification of England – which she embodied – she fought to protect him in the end."

_"Britannia!" Young Gaul peeked through the grass, seeing the slender feet of tall blond nation as she walked across the grass. _

_ "Gaul!" The infant nation managed to run across the grass and jumped into the nation's arms. The blue eyed infant giggled, playing with her hair for a moment before his leg kicked something._

_ "What's that?" Kicking it again, the infant realized that something hard and big was in Britannia's stomach. The female nation suddenly smiled fondly at the very young nation, and allowed his tiny hands to caress her belly. _

_ "You feel this, little Gaul?" Gaul shook his head, wondering why Britannia was so big. Suddenly, there was a fluttery feeling when his tiny hands touched her bloated area. Gaul looked up at the nation with huge eyes, not understanding. "It's a baby, Gaul. A nation, like you. My youngest." For a brief moment, a somber expression appeared in her eyes. "I think it likes you," she stated again as there was another flutter. Gaul watched in awe. "Would you like to see the baby when it's born?"_

_ Gaul nodded vigorously, but was very disappointed when Britannia suddenly set him down._

_ The female nation smiled once and waved. "You'll be the first person I'll show the baby to, Gaul! That's a promise!"_

_ Gaul nodded, knowing of how Britannia's many sons disliked little babies, remembering of how they reacted when he appeared. The infant waved, smiling widely at the thought of seeing the little baby._

_ But the day never came. Gaul was taken away from his beautiful place and lived alone until Rome bragged that Britannia was dead and a young infant name was thrown into prison with him. _

"Did you see her die?"

France opened his eyes to sound of America's question.

"I didn't." France swallowed, staring now at the deep dark blue sea. Somehow he could imagine the female nation in her armor with her sword, walking on water as she faced her last enemy. _The sword made of blue and gold…with script…similar to… _"But _Angleterre _was too young to fight against Rome, or could he hide, unlike his brothers." Screams echoed in ears, the wails of a child. "He watched her die with his very eyes."

* * *

_Cher fils - _dear son (French)

_Oui_ \- Yes (French)

_Je suis desole_ \- I am sorry (French)

_hundan Yingguo _\- bastard England (Chinese)


	15. Memory XV

Warning for extreme gore.

* * *

_"Oniichan?" _

_ Japan peered up from his smeared rice paper and stared nervously at his older brother. The much older nation was frowning, his long hair tied in a bun and his almost amber eyes staring at the bamboo beyond the house they shared. The tiny nation slightly shifted, worrying if his oniichan was angry with him because the strange pictures – kanji, oniichan had called them – were ugly and distorted. Japan stared sadly at the bleeding ink and the uneven writing. It had been easy at first. Oniichan had shown him how to write the kanji for one and then two. Japan had started to become exited when he managed to write the kanji for a thousand when he had tried the word for siblings. What was the word in Oniichan's language again?_

_Japan had slowly been learning how to speak his oniichan's language and softly whispered the word to himself. The small nation tried to write it, but it always came out wrong. Japan looked at his older brother again, but looked away when he saw that the older nation was still staring at the bamboo._

_ "Do you need help, Japan?" Japan almost lost his composure when he heard his oniichan's voice behind him. The taller nation sounded as if he was smiling, and his crimson and white robes settled onto the ground as China crouched down to Japan's height. _

_ "Hai." Japan softly whispered. It had been many centuries since he had first met China. The tiny nation could remember his past before he met the nation with long braided hair. Listening to the leaves blow. Seeing the birds fly in the sky. Feeling the cherry blossoms caress his face. He had never met his people. He didn't even know of them until China explained to him what he was. Since then, centuries had passed. Japan was speaking more often now, although he still preferred to observe the world around him. It was so beautiful, especially in the spring when the cherry blossoms were in bloom. It took some time, but Japan acknowledged that he truly liked his oniichan, especially when the older nation told him stories about his people. Japan, although his face was a mask of apathy, grew concerned whenever his oniichan would become sad whenever he mentioned his first boss. The nation would often say nothing for a while before beginning to speak again. Sometimes he would even sing, singing in a high and clear voice, the words lost to Japan as he watched his oniichan sing. _

_ "Here, let me show you." Kindness was in his voice. Japan watched as China effortlessly wrote the kanji for siblings. It was beautiful. Japan could hear the pride in China's voice as he continued to practice and managed to perfect the one kanji. _

_ "Oniichan?" The said brother looked at Japan curiously. "What were you thinking about, when I was trying the kanji?"_

_A surprisingly warm smile graced his oniichan's face. "I was thinking about the time when we met, xaiodi." A rare blush overtook Japan's cheeks when his oniichan suddenly ruffled his hair. "You were so small then, and soon you will have to move to your own house."_

"_Where my people are?" China nodded. His younger brother quieted, a pensive expression on his face._

"_But…I don't want to go, oniichan." Japan couldn't look at the older nation, certain there would be disappointment on his face. "I want to stay with you." China shook his head, a small and sad smile on his face. _

"_You will have to go one day, my dear child." He placed his hands above Japan's. The warmth eased through Japan's skin, almost calming him with its presence. "But always remember this."_

"_We will always remain brothers."_

_A smile caressed his face. A smile so pure Japan almost broke his mask and cried. But instead the dark haired nation closed his eyes and allowed a promise to ease from his lips. _

"_For two thousand years, big brother."_

Japan opened his eyes and swallowed. The memory, so brief, continued to exist. He remembered his innocent promise, the soft voice echoing in his ears. _Watashi wa… _The Japanese nation was lying on the floor, feeling the hard floor on his back. He knew he didn't have to be restrained anymore. His screams and the despair through his veins remained in his memory. He felt the katana slice through him, and the mind-numbing agony as his head was severed from his body. Japan squeezed his eyes shut as the blood of his would-be assassin burned in his head. The dead eyes and the hatred seeping from him. The hatred directed at Japan himself. _My own citizen… _The realization of what had happened struck Japan again, and turned himself on his side as he felt his own sick escape from his stomach. It felt vile and stuck in Japan's throat, and he felt spittle trickle down his mouth as the nation gasped for breath.

Suddenly Kuro appeared before him. "You broke your prime to China, didn't you?" His cold breath eased on his face, paling by the moment. "I remember his cry when you betrayed him." Softly, his cold hands caressed Japan's cheeks. "You remember that night, don't you, Kiku?"

Japan could only whimper as another memory formed, the emotions buried deep coming alive again.

"_I win, China-san." Japan looked down at the wounded Chinese nation. The former proud and elegant nation was now bleeding and silently crying as Japan stood before him in his uniform._

"_How could you, Japan?" Japan's face was impassive as China began to cry. His hair was tangled, covered with dirt and smeared with blood. "How could you do this to me, your older brother? How could you attack me? And Korea…" A hint of anger appeared in his eyes. "How could you harm –"_

"_You are not my brothers," Japan stated coolly. He was aware of China's face agonized with pain. "I told…China-san. I aim to become stronger. So that way I can face the Western powers." He stared coldly at the weeping China. Something more than pity surged through him. "That is why I warned you."_

"_Warned me?!" China's eyes flashed with rage. "Is stabbing someone in the back with their katana a warning?" Suddenly he gave a bitter laugh. "Some samurai you are, Kiku."_

_Japan did not react at the sound of his human name. He remembered that night very well. Stabbing China, his former oniichan, was painful. He didn't want to do it. However…his boss said it was necessary. "Sever your ties. You cannot become strong if you have bonds." It had been forty years since he had met America-san. He had seen the invincible power the young nation had. Japan was not naïve. He was aware of the situation he was in if he had walked down the path so many of his nations had gone through. He would not be…manipulated. Although Japan and America-san had many differences, they had something in common. _

_They loved to be free. And so when the tariffs and the many other laws came into effect, Japan told himself that he would learn from this American and become stronger. It had pained him to sever the bonds between him and his siblings. Although he acted aloof and pretended he had no emotions, Japan forced himself to become nothing. To feel nothing. "Be a nation I can be proud of." Japan did not come back to his house for a week after that night with China-san. He simply lied under a tree, observing the world around him and wondering, quite briefly, that to have power was to be lonely. He remembered his katana slicing China-san's back, and the cries that escaped from him as he called his human name, crying why. Japan forced himself to not think of such things, and focused on the crying Chinese nation before him._

"_You are weak. If you had accepted the West and learned from them, this wouldn't have happened." Japan's words had the desired effect. China stood, enraged and breathing heavily as he yelled._

"_I am the Middle Kingdom! The greatest of the nations! Those lowly Western should bow down to me! And you have become one of them, Japan! Selfish and arrogant, greedy with no thought but –"_

_China-san clutched his chest as blood quickly seeped from the wound Japan had just given him from the blade of his sword. As China-san clutched his chest with his knees on the ground, a brief redness appeared in Japan's eyes. The long-haired nation stared as a growing fear surged through him._

"_J-Japan…"_

"_You are like Korea, China." The words were almost inaudible, and the tone was dark. Darker than China had heard him speak during the war. "You refused to see the truth in front of you. Blind but to the glories of the past. That is why his country is why it is now. His nobility, the dishonorable yangban, are heedless to the voices and sufferings of the poor. The result was a rebellion." Japan's red eyes bored into China's own, feeling strange satisfaction at the old nation trembling before him. "A rebellion so big and so large the nation had to call for his beloved older brother and inferior Japan." Now Japan smirked, an expression that marred the former impassive expression he had. "I didn't leave as my government said I would, and then we fought. Korea now belongs to me." Japan spoke softly, his voice hardly rising above the wind that now caressed his hair. "As does Taiwan."_

"_Japan..." China stood, the sadness gone from his eyes, and then he suddenly tried to slap Japan's face. Japan easily dodged, and landed several feet away. _

_The nation suddenly felt a sharp pain in his eyes and clutched his head. Disoriented, he didn't notice of the strange bewilderedness that coursed through him as China silently wept, defeated. _

"_Goodbye…China-san."_

"That was the first time that I took influenced you," Koru stated in a monotone voice as Japan stared at him numbly. "Over time, I started to influence you more and more as time passed, eventually taking you over a couple of times." The nation's counterpart sighed. "That was in 1895, after the first of the many wars with China. Then came 1905…when I took control of you for the first time. _Oboemasu ka…_Kiku_?_"

_Japan was standing in front of three European-looking men. One, he could tell, had blond hair and blue eyes. He was holding a rose despite of the seriousness of the situation. Japan only remembered what they were called because they were England-san's national flower. He had heard this nation complained about many times before, the name hissed by another's lips. A nation who lived across from England-san. Japan also noted of another blond. Although his face was calm, inwardly Japan was surprised that one of the nations facing him was so young. His light blond hair and light blue eyes didn't leave Japan's, and the older nation stared at the young boy wearing a light brown uniform, holding the weapon in his hands as if he had been born with it. _

So this is Germany-san? _Japan had heard about a nation being born about forty years ago when the nation states of Germany had been unified. _He had to grow up quickly…didn't he? _Despite his age, the young nation looked about sixteen years old. His older brother was nowhere to be seen. Japan's gaze now wavered to the face he knew so well. Russia-san looked well. His former scarf, once red with blood, appeared clean and a familiar childish smile appeared on his face. Hatred grew inside Japan, so deep he felt his eyes turn red. _

"_You are saying that I cannot enter, correct?" Japan's voice was calm._

"_Yes, Japan." The dark-haired nation did not flinch at the seductive wink France-san gave him. "This land rightly belongs to China and –"_

"_I won the war." Japan interrupted. The other nations shared a glance. Japan continued to speak, his tone measured. "I won the war against Russia-san, and that means, if I am correct, that I am in possession of Laodong province." For some reason, his breathing stiffened as he looked at the fellow nations. "Is that correct?"_

"_You're funny, Japan." Japan's gaze suddenly met Russia-san's, and he was aware of red-hot anger course through him at the nation's smile and bright voice. "You think that just because you won the war against me means you get my land?" He began to giggle. "Even though our bosses said that it will go back to China, it's actually going to Germany."_

_Japan's eyes widened. He stared at the light blond haired nation with a pleased look on his face. He looked at the nations before him, smirking and mocking. Suddenly, Japan became angry. _

"_Kissama!" The words hissed from his mouth, almost sounding like a curse. His eyes narrowed, ignorant of his eyes turning red and his voice changing. The calm Japan the nations had met was gone. In his place….an enraged nation with a forbidden voice and sliding his katana from his scabbard, the blade downward. "Teme wa…teme wa ore o azakeri da. Ore wa…" His grip tightened on the katana, so tight he didn't notice his blood falling onto the ground. "Ore wa himei…ni sorera no warai o mukerudarou." A sickening smile painted his face. Aware of the wide eyes on him, the red eyes echoed of the words he stated. _

"_Koroshite yaru!" _

Japan shook as he regained that memory. His entire body trembled as he remembered the hatred seeping from his voice. _I…spoke in such a way? _Japan almost gagged and felt a scream tearing at his throat as the hateful words echoed in him mind. _I said… _

"It was a long time before you allowed me to take control over you again." Kuro's eyes were calm and searched the agony and self-loathing in Japan as he watched his weak counterpart. "Your boss stated to sever all the bonds that you had…but you couldn't." His voice became disappointed. "I started taking control of you more and more after the alliance failed." Kuro stared into Japan's eyes. _"Oboemasu ka…watashi no tomodachi? Ano toki…"_

"_You are leaving." Japan's monotone voice echoed in the Japanese-styled house as England-san packed. The Englishman sighed and stood to face his former ally. _

"_Yes. I am." His emerald eyes searched Japan's, but found no emotion. "It doesn't mean we can't still be…friends, Japan." The shorter nation nodded. Through his obsidian eyes, Japan watched as England-san continued to pack. There were shirts and trousers packed within the suitcase. Japan almost started when he saw the kimono he had made for England-san. It was light blue complete with herons. He still remembered making it, feeling the silk across his fingers and the dye sticking against his hands. Japan had never made a kimono for anyone before. It felt…good. A sign of trust. Japan had been look forward to England-san's visit when suddenly the Englishman had come to tell him that their alliance had been terminated. The English nation would often visit his house once a year since the beginning of the alliance, and Japan would visit his as much as he could. During the first couple of years, Japan found his presence unnerving. The only nation he had in contact with was… Japan had shook his head with the thought. That bond was over. It was only in the company of England-san did Japan note of how lonely he was. Of how lonely they both were. _

_Both Japan and England-san had been in isolation for quite some time, and didn't react with many nations since both of their lands were far apart. The two had bonded over their love of tea and didn't talk about the relationship they had with their brothers. It was the only true friendship Japan had, not just based on respect but on fondness, he had realized now as England-san packed. They understood each other quite well, even more than France-san at times. Japan gave a small smile at the memory of England-san coming to his house, ranting for hours about the French nation when their alliance was signed. It was only later did Japan start to notice of how, especially after the war, England-san began to speak of his ally in a softer tone. A smile graced his lips at one time. Japan often caught England-san staring across the sea, a look Japan had seen for thousands of years. England-san wasn't ready to acknowledge those feelings yet. "France has always been in my memories," England confessed as the two nations sat down and watched the cherry blossoms fall onto their laps. "I…don't have very many memories of my mother…and France has always been with me." A pensive look appeared on his face. "We grew up together. I still remember me giving him the ribbon that he always wears. Even after all this time…I just don't know how I feel."_

_Japan remembered of how England-san would stop whatever he was doing during the times of his visits and talk to France-san. It usually lasted only a couple of minutes, but Japan noted of how England-san would always tell him his true feelings afterward. "I truly do care for him. It's just…" Japan had seen England-san truly smile and heard him laugh. I truly hope that one day, France-san gets to experience this England that I know. England-san now stood before Japan, uncertain and hesitating as he stood outside Japan's door. _

"_Japan, it was…nice knowing you."_

_Japan nodded. He watched the Englishman walk away, staring at his blond hair and straight back. Before he could stop himself, Japan picked up a vase from the sixteenth century and threw it. It shattered, the pieces falling on the ground. Japan fell onto the ground, clutching his face in his hands as his hands shook. England-san's words echoed in his mind. "I just don't know how I feel." Japan had thought he had finally found a companion, a person who understood his loneliness and accepted him. A person who he come to see as a person who was irreplaceable…a friend who could not be replaced. _

_He will forget about me now, Japan thought as numbness filled him. He will forget I had that bond with him, and I… _

_I am alone now. I have no one else._

"_Asa…" Japan whispered as tears leaked from his red eyes. "Asa…gomen nasai. Asa..."_

"You loved him as the only person who could possibly understand you," Kuro stated as tears began to caress Japan's cheeks. "You had no attachment to any of the other countries, not even Holland, and you despised America for a long time. It was only when the war was over and you awoke to find America and England by your beside did you realize you forgave America for humiliating you and the feelings you had for England was not, as you pondered as the decades passed, romantic love. He is the closest friend you have to date…even more than Italy and Germany." Kuro silently cupped Japan's face, feeling the tears against his skin. "Although…there is someone else now. Heracles."

Japan almost wept at the thought of the said nation. _Heracles… _The two had first met in 1899, but their relationship had not blossomed until after the war. Japan could remember meeting a nation with dark brown hair with a sleepy expression appearing in his house. _"Konnichiwa, Nihon." _Japan had been pleasantly surprised that Greece had remembered the time when he had taught him some of his language. Japan had been recovering from the war, so he had found it very difficult when Greece had suddenly collapsed on the ground and had to carry him inside.

Their friendship had lasted for very long time. Although Japan had paired his bonds with most of the nations and remained close to England-san, he found himself enjoying Greece-san's presence more. They taught each other so many things. Japan remembered the awe on Greece-san's face when he saw the cherry blossoms in bloom, falling from the trees, and he thought to himself. _Greece-san is more beautiful than the flowers. _Immediately after that thought, Japan shook his head as a rare blush overtook his face. _I…cannot ruin our relationship with thoughts such as these! _The newfound attraction Japan had toward the Greek didn't fade however. Eventually, Japan inwardly panicked when he found himself sharing an umbrella with Greece-san during a rainy day…and then lying down on a blanket with the sun caressing their faces…and again, when Japan and Greece-san found themselves lost and found each other again. The years had passed and blurred until the year 2005.

Japan had slept with Greece-_san_. He thought of it as a dream, for he had admitted to himself that he did feel _that _way toward the handsome nation. He thought that the feverish kisses and tender touches were only a dream. It did not occur to him that his kimono was loose and Greece-san was beside him with his hair tousled and a peaceful expression echoed across his face. Suddenly after that night, Greece-san started acting strangely. He would find reason to come to Japan's house, and was often flustered and frustrated in Japan's presence. Then, they had gotten into an argument. Greece-san had demanded if Japan remembered anything of that night.

Japan had denied any memory until Greece-san suddenly angrily titled his head and kissed him. The kiss was passionate without any of the tenderness of that night, Greece-san's full lips on his own. The kiss was something Japan had never experienced before. It tingled on his mouth when Greece-san suddenly pulled away and wouldn't stare into his eyes. It was then that Japan realized that the dream he thought he had was not a dream.

_"Oh, Greece-san…" Japan had murmured. He felt his hand against the nation's cheek and embraced him, tenderness and love coursing through his very being. He stared into those beautiful eyes and leaned in, his mouth near Greece-san's, breathing deeply as he slowly lowered his mouth –_

Japan couldn't scream. His happy memory, the memory closest to his heart, was ripped to shreds as he felt agony destroy him in violent waves. He glanced down. His body was now against the wall, blood staining the once-light brown walls. Japan looked into Kuro's eyes, attempting not to scream as the sword continued to piece through his body. Blood soaked on the floor. Japan pressured himself to not move as he saw the katana continue to ravage his flesh.

The katana once in Kuro's scabbard now was embedded in his flesh. The blood continued to ooze. Japan gasped as he felt the sword's point. He stared down. The katana had entered through his chest. It had managed to miss his heart…but just barely. Japan sickened as the katana continued to slice, feeling his lungs inflate with blood and blood pouring down his throat as he gasped. His hand held the sword in his hand, as if that would stop the pain. Japan felt a scream tear from his throat as he felt the katana break his spine, feeling the bone splinter, and felt the sword exiting from his back. He heard the sound of the sword thudding against the wall, feeling the blood soak into the wood and against his back. Japan could barely breathe. He vomited, feeling the taste of blood on his mouth as Kuro continued to push deeper and deeper into his flesh.

Suddenly, Kuro reached out his hand.

_"AAHHH!" _

Kuro had plunged his hand deep into Japan's flesh, the horrifying screams deaf to his ears. He pulled, Japan continuing to pull and fight even as his body was destroyed and dying. Kuro's hand was dark with blood as the blood continued to come out of Japan's chest.

Japan's heart lied in his hand. It continued to beat, as if it was still safe inside the ribcage. Japan was still alive, although his eyes were closed and his chest barely moved. Suddenly Kuro grabbed Japan's hair and pulled him down to make him look at him in the eyes.

_"Anata wa…" _

Japan was only aware of agony. His world was nothing but agony and pain. He couldn't even scream he was so lost in his world. Which was why, he did not see the twin blades aiming towards him.

Kuro surveyed the room red with blood. He still held Kiku's heart in his hand, although it had stopped leaking blood a while ago. He stared down at the figure before him. He had cut Kiku in seventeen pieces. From the groin to the hip. From the arm to the elbow. From the hand to the wrist. From the chest to the waist. Kuro had dismembered him everywhere. His head, decapitated, lied in its own pool of blood. His observance was halted when Kuro suddenly turned and pointed his katana at the piece of flesh who was still alive.

"You're still as good as always," Ming-Li smirked. Kuro stared at the figure. Dressed in traditional Chinese clothing, the counterpart to China looked almost exactly alike Except there was a darkness in those eyes and a bloodthirsty smile on his face that Kuro knew from anywhere, and a robe complete with dark red and yellow The nation stared at room pooling with blood, and the separate seventeen pieces of flesh scattered around the room. A hand there. A dismembered foot. A couple of toes and fingers.

"It will take a while for him to heal," Ming-Li stated with a slightly chiding tone. Kuro turned, his eyes narrowed.

"I know."

"Has he suffered enough yet?" Kuro didn't answer. "Oliver has already broken his. Broken bits of brain and skull everywhere. And the _screams…_" A bubble of laughter escaped from Ming-Li. "Although, he has been more careful than you. There is no way for him to die unless his country falls." There was a pause from him. "You know that, right?"

"Of course." Kuro whispered, feeling the slick blood seep from his hands as he held his katana. "Which is why…I am going to kill him completely." There was a strange, almost terrifying madness in his eyes. "I am going to kill him until his country suffers. His greatest sorrow is when his people suffer…and I will make that fear a reality."

For a brief moment, a frightened look appeared in Ming-Li's eyes. "What do you plan to do?" he hoarsely whispered.

Kuro didn't answer for a moment. "I make the earthquake and tsunami of twenty-seven years ago look like nothing. Two more times and his country will suffer the effects. That…will be my revenge on dear Kiku."

* * *

_Xaiodi _\- Little brother

_"Kissama! Teme wa ore o azakeri da. Ore wa himei…ni sorera no warai o mukerudarou. Koroshite yaru!" _(Lit. very rude in Japanese) - You! You mocked me. I will make those laughs into screams. I will kill you!


	16. Memory XVI

_Sob…sob…_

_ Sob...sob…_

England had no idea where he was. He couldn't open his eyes or move his limbs. He felt the agony and the liquid oozing from his skin against his flesh. The English nation had awoken to find Oliver hovering over him, a smirk echoing against his face. The horror of his memory burned in his mind, feeling France over him, blood leaking from his skin, and his screams… No one had heard him. Just as now as England's numbed mind heard sobs echoing against his ears. The blond nation remembered as Oliver suddenly lifted him by his arm and dragged him to where an iron-hot poker suddenly lay. The heat wafting from the iron, red and orange and burning, reflected against England's empty eyes. He was stripped bare, leaving nothing behind as his blood-stained clothes were scattered around the room. It was only then he became aware of the pain. It came in waves, unrelenting and fast, destroying his own sense of self as the pale skin started to bun and melt and leak.

England could hear Oliver's laughter over his screams. It reached as high as his screams did, and he did nothing to remove his hands as melted flesh leaked onto his arms. England had been through this pain before – all the older European nations had. But this…seemed worse. The pain…the blurring sight of Oliver smiling and feeling his flesh burn wherever the poker was put…seemed almost inhumane. England didn't know how long it lasted, or of how long he had screamed until his voice had grown hoarse and with him too exhausted to say a word. His chest and back were scarred by burned flesh and semi-liquid flesh that wept red. Oliver suddenly smiled and brushed his fingers against his lips for quiet. It was only when he felt the hot redness and agony seeping from his genitalia that England became aware of sobs.

_Sob…sob…_

_ "What is the matter, mon ami?" _

_ Suddenly England was aware of his smallness. He was wearing the small dark green cloak he used to wear as a child. He looked down, and saw that his hands were tiny and plump again. The emerald eyes that belonged to a child swam with tears, and England peered into the sky-blue eyes of his oldest friend. _

_ Francis…_

_ The slightly older nation was looking at him in concern, his big blue eyes widening at the sight of his crying friend. The smaller nation suddenly turned away from his and sniffed. _

_ "Is it really my fault?" His voice was quiet and subdued, not one belonging to a child. Francis looked at him in concern, noting of how the emerald eyes tried not to weep tears. _

_ "Is what not your fault, mon ami?" The little England was quiet for a moment. _

_ "My mother…" was his only whisper. Francis looked sadly down at the grass, uncomfortable and unresponsive as the other blond child began to speak. "My mother…died…"_ _He sniffed again, and tears leaked from his eyelashes. "They said…it was my fault."_

_ "Who said this?" If England had been older, he would have noted the immediate rage in Francis' voice. But the child was too deep in his pain to notice. _

_ "My older brothers…hate me." A sob forced through his throat. His cries filled the air, too distraught to note his friend holding him in his arms like he did so long ago. "They say…if I hadn't been born…"_

_ "Non!" England had gasped and tears trickled down his cheeks as France stared at him with firm eyes. "Non…mon ami. Your mother…your maman…died because of Rome. She was killed by him, not by you." Softly, he stroked the soft hair that he had once mocked as unfashionable. "They still…hate you…" France murmured under his breath, anger almost making him choke as he held his friend in his arms. "You were just a baby when she died, unable to fend for yourself. She protected you…even as she fought to her last breath." England stared, tears still rolling down his cheeks as France continued to comfort him. "Your brothers…were much older than you…although no less held accountable." Suddenly a smile caressed France's face, and he put a small hand on England's cheek. "Do you remember what she told you?"_

_ England nodded, tears filling his eyes again as he remembered one of his only clear memories of his mother. "Albion…" Britannia whispered as she held her youngest son in her arms. The sword was at her feet, not yet deep beneath the sea until a certain king was given it. Her once beautiful hair was matted with blood. Her eyes were clear, although the dark red of blood flowed from impossible number of wounds. Rome watched with fascination as she whispered her last words to the tiny future nation in the crook in her arm. "You and…your brothers…will succeed me. I hope…you will become strong. Strong enough…to not bow to the bonds…of slavery after…Rome is gone." _

_The young infant then named Albion watched his mother with wide eyes. His young mind couldn't understand what was happening. His mother was bleeding with a smile on her face. The tiny hands touched her cheek. Slowly, before he could react, Britannia kissed him sweetly on the forehead. "I believe…you will become a good nation…my dearest…son." Tears trailed against the infant's face, and he tried to speak even though he was not able to. "A loved nation…" Suddenly Albion began to scream, his hands unclenching and reaching for his mother even as she began to disappear. "I love you…Albion…" _

_ His tears would not cease. Nor would his screams. _

_ England nodded, his mind in the present time as France continued to stroke his hair. He clutched the young nation tightly, his sight blurred by tears. "Mother…" He knew that he would not like to remember this moment, but for as of right now, he needed this peaceful moment._

* * *

_ "Francis!" Albion ran towards the fellow blond nation, tackling him breathlessly as the two lied against one another against the ground. Francis looked surprised at his old friend. He was smiling, a sight only Francis could see, for his older brothers tormented his relentlessly._

_ "Mon ami?" Albion shook his head, his tiny body quivering with excitement. It had been many decades since Rome had died and the two nations had reunited once they came home to their lands. Albion was the only person the child knew, for they had been together in a dark cell since Rome had killed his mother. Albion had been happy to return home, but had been dismayed and frightened when chaos had overtaken his house. He had run to his brothers, but they had chased him away with stones and arrows. It had been Francis who had found him sobbing by the river, blood leaking from a wound on his arm. The older nation had crouched down and healed the wound on his arm with some herbs and salve. Since then, the two had spent all of their time together. _

_ Albion giggled at Francis' confused expression. He pulled out a daisy chain from the small trousers he wore, giggling still as Francis stilled and looked at the chain upon his head and touched it softly. _

_ "You taught me how to make one the other day, so I made one for you, Francis!" The older blond smiled and laughed as he stared at the emerald-eyed nation. _

_ "You're so sweet, Albion. But there's only one problem." Albion looked at Francis in confusion, more so when Francis softly tapped his nose. "These flowers are pink and blue, not white."_

_ "W-were they supposed to be that color?" Albion whispered as his eyes became downcast. He tried to fight it, but found that he was close to crying. He almost jumped when he found Francis patting his head and laughing softly. _

_ "It doesn't matter, Albion. It's the flowers themselves and the gift that counts. Now," he stated as Albion looked curiously up at him. "I have something for you too."_

_ The child gasped when he felt a familiar daisy chain resting against his head. It was beautiful, he thought. The flowers were darker blue and had a slight purple tint to them. Albion beamed at Francis, happiness in his eyes._

_ "Thank you, Francis!"_

_ Francis' laughter echoed in his ears._

* * *

_ "Mon Angleterre?" England found himself waking to the sight of France lying beside him. Sleepily, he was aware of the soft and silk sheets against his bare skin. Soothing him. The English nation heard the bed creak as France moved over to him, his arms brushing against England's own as France eased his body above his own, their foreheads brushing against each other's._

_ "I meant what I said."_

_ England stared at France, remembering very well of the feverish words that had come from the Frenchman's lips. He sighed, the sigh coming deeply from his chest. France looked at him with soft eyes and then moved his head across England's chest. The Englishman found himself stringing the Frenchman's hair through his fingers, a sense of peacefulness washing over him._

_ "I know," he stated as France's eyes started to grow heavy and his breathing deepened. "Which is why I…"_

"It's only a dream, Arthur."

England awoke to find himself in the room again. He was wearing clothes again, and he noted from the moment he woke that he wounds were healed. England stared at himself, looking into his emerald eyes that hardly had any life of them anymore. Oliver was currently clutching his fingers in his hair, although not in the tender way England had done to France in –

"It was only a dream, Arthur." The tone Oliver spoke in was almost sad, although England knew by now that his counterpart was incapable of sadness. "Your face looked so peaceful…so devoid of pain that I thought something was wrong." England started, hardly daring himself to look at his tormentor. "Even though we are not supposed to feel the happiness and peace that you feel," here is grip tightened but England barely noted the pain. "I could feel of how peaceful you felt from your memories of your friend. Which is why I know that your dream with France by your side, together, was only a dream." Oliver sighed and pressed his fingers harder against England's scalp. "That's your dream, isn't it? To…be with France?"

England couldn't say anything. His mouth refused to form words. The dream – it had felt so _real _and so _right _– echoed in his mind, France's peaceful expression in his mind. The feel of his head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. For some reason, tears started to form in England's eyes at the memory – the dream.

"You have known France for a very long time." Oliver's voice echoed throughout the walls, the calmness stilling England's heart. "Since that day when your mother died. He has always been on your side. Your first word was his name, and you endured the trial of being the captivity of Rome together. Learning Latin. Cleaning each other's wounds. That one nation meant so much to you…the nation who was by your side. The one who comforted you when confronted with your older brother's hatred of you, blaming a very young nation for his mother's death. He comforted you when they shouted at you, and chased you away. Even beat you." Suddenly Oliver turned England toward him, and stared deeply into his crying emerald eyes. "And then…it all changed. France became a nation, as did you. You had a duty to your people…and you fought for one thousand years." He leaned closer to England's face. "Why is it…"

"That you care about him?!" England's head smashed against the mirror. Against his will, he began to shake, the blood from the wound appearing on his head leaking. Oliver leaned his head back, allowing the wounded Englishman to see the rage on his face.

"Why?!" Again, the mirror smashed against his face. England felt his blood trickle onto his lips, feeling a gasp tore through his throat as Oliver continued to smash his head against the mirror.

Soon England only became aware of the blood. It blurred into his eyes, making him blind. The pain was intense. He couldn't focus. He couldn't breathe. Oliver was screaming, the screaming as painful as his face continuously being wounded by the mirror. England could feel the blood stream down his face and onto the floor. He heard Oliver gasping for breath, and almost screamed when he felt his face being pressed against the glass.

England could feel glass embedded in his skin. Pieces were also in his cheek, making him almost hiss as Oliver grasped and pulled, creating another jagged wound and more blood to flow. "Why…?" Oliver continued to whisper. "After all that he has done do you…" England could feel a scream clogged in his throat as Oliver smashed his face against the broken mirror and held in there.

_ "Do you not remember what he did to you?!" _

England's breathing was shallow. He could swallow the blood leaking into his lips. He could feel his blood coat against his face. Still, he cracked open his mouth and tried to speak.

"I…France is…" England paused, his voice weak and stagnant. _Francis… _"I love...France."

"AAHH!" England screamed as another particularly painful blow was aimed at his head as Oliver crushed his face against the mirror.

"Another reminder, perhaps…?" Oliver whispered with darkness. England struggled in vain, fear vividly in his eyes, his heart caught in his throat.

_France above him…blood slick against his chest…agony his only reality as pain jolted through him…screaming…France grasping and squeezing…Laughter echoing in his ears…Pain…_

_ Agony…_

_ Despair…_

England was still as the memory formed in his mind. He didn't know how long it took for him to finally silence. His eyes were wide and dead. His entire body was limp, and he stared at the broken mirror with broken glass and blood dripping against it. His entire face wept with red and screamed in pain…but his very being was empty.

"Even among us, raping a nation is considered a sin. Vile. Even so though…we do it to each other." Oliver was whispering. "That is us, however. We are the darkness and death. For you…it is an unspeakable thing. Something it is an unwritten law." His hand came away with blood. "You are weak, England. Of all the memories to break you, France raping you is the one?" He laughed, the laughter growing louder and louder, hysterical. "You must…truly care for this nation. But I do have to say…" He brushed his lips own against England's, making the nation flinch. "France was not the only one who did this."

_"Merci…" _England pleaded. Tears, thick and silver, were pelting down his face. His voice was almost inaudible. _"Merci…" _Cracked and broken, blood streaming down his face with glass embedded in his skin. England had known French all the thousands of years that he had fought the person who had taught him the language. The French nation had not realized that his English counterpart could understand every word that he said, including things he would much rather keep to himself. England couldn't remember how many times had had blushed when France wasn't looking. He had denied the fact that he could speak the bloody language, to any nation who would hear.

But it only came to light when something was wrong. There were times in his history when his body and the agony – physical, mental, and emotional – was too much for him to remember him the language that he proudly spoke. French was the only language he could understand and speak, and England had sighed in relief when France had forgotten that during the plague, he had spoken the language that he denied existed. _"Merci…" _he gasped. England was not aware of himself. He did not know that Oliver was laughing above him, or that bits of brain were clotting in his hair. _"Je…" _he sobbed, the sobs reaching a high octave and reaching a screaming point. _"Je…__arrêter ...__s'il vous plaît__…__arrêter la douleur...arrête ...Francis…sauve-moi…sauve-moi…__"_ He pleaded, not caring about his pride, not caring he was weak and a craven. _This hell… "Francis…__ s'il vous plaît…__ "_His tears dripped onto the ground, making a silvery substance as it became a small puddle. "S'il vous plaît ... juste faire arrêter ... "

_ "FRANCI –!" _

Blood and brain splattered Oliver as England was collided with the mirror for the final time. Bits of skull also managed to find their way in Oliver's hair, and the blond with the pink hue in his eyes glared. The counterpart did not move. Oliver stared at the mirror. It was broken beyond repair, blood and bits of brain coating the surface. Almost all of the glass had been embedded in the counterpart's skin.

"So loud…" Oliver complained. He reached to touch his ears. "And so messy…" he mumbled as he glared at the blood and the bits of brain and skull. He would not touch his hair. _I will have to wash…again…_

"You are often the loud one, Oliver." The counterpart nation turned. A tall Frenchman, with cold blue eyes and a cigarette burning in his fingers, smirked at Oliver's complaints. He didn't stare at the body of England.

"That is only when you control me," the shorter nation muttered as the nation wearing a Napoleon-era military uniform stood in front of him. Suddenly the two locked lips, with none of the gentleness reserved for their weak counterparts. The two were immune to love. Dominance and hate had fueled the passion they had for each other.

"I won," Oliver said with a fierce smirk as Jean came away with bloodied lips.

Jean scowled, but grabbed his lover's hair in a firm grip. "Kuro said that he is almost done with his dear Japan. And you?" he asked, his smoke-clogged voice burning in Oliver's ears.

"He is weak," spat the wavy-haired Englishman. "I just had to show him that one scene of his France raping him, and he collapsed." Contempt was in his voice. "I echoed it in his mind over and over again until he screamed. Then he became annoying, so I quieted him." Jean stared at Oliver for a moment, wondering what had gotten his lover so upset. Normally this contempt was not seen by anyone, not even him. Suddenly it dawned of Jean.

"He loves the Frenchman, doesn't he?" Jean sneered. _"Love." _He walked to where the Englishman lied, staring at his body for a moment before kicking him aside. He wanted to decapitate him, staring at the weak face covered with bits of bone and brain. "What a waste of time." Then, suddenly he smiled. "They are here, right now, Oliver." He could feel their feeble hearts and felt their every breath as they arrived at the designated time. Their pathetic hope, as each of them suddenly appeared in their world.

Oliver only nodded to Jean as the counterpart nation of France smiled even more.

_The bloodstained glass from our world will now invade theirs._ Jean glanced at the mirror that Oliver had used to kill the Englishman.

_This is going to be fun…but before that…_

"Let us kill him together, _mon ami_," Jean stated as he licked his lips on the knife that was held in his hand. "Only twice more…and his country will suffer…and this is our dream. For our counterparts to suffer as we have suffered…"


	17. Memory XVII

France stared incredulously at the person before him. It looked like him; the same blond hair and blue eyes. France noted with a shudder of his Napoleon-era military uniform, glancing at the colors that haunted his dreams. The eyes of his look-alike were cold and sneered at the two nations before him. Italy crouched beside him, his limbs shaking in fear and whimpering as the look-alike stared at them with slight boredom growing in his eyes. France had no idea how this situation had occurred. For a moment, the French nation and several others had been tense as a portal opened at their destination and designated time. No one had spoken as the plane flew over where the body of ancient nations had disappeared, and France had contemplated in silence as he thought of the strong and kind and proud nation who reminded him so much of her youngest son. Then suddenly, their world was black and France and Italy found themselves with a strange figure who looked so much like himself.

France cringed at the sight of the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke visibly seen through the air. The nameless nation put the cigarette between his lips and puffed. The smoke vaporized in the air. For a moment he looked like he was about to speak.

"Where is _Angleterre_?" The words were stated from France's mouth before he could control them. Inwardly, he swallowed when the figure before him scowled.

"I hate French." France blanched, his eyes widening in disbelief at the naked hatred in the person's other blue eyes. "It's so…romantic. Disgusting," he added as he stamped on the cigarette. Beside France, Italy shuddered. "I heard you love beauty, France." Cold blue eyes stared into France's blue depths. "The delicious food that your country has, the beautiful women, and the language of _love._" The word _love _was whispered with such hatred that the French nation silently gulped, his heart suddenly beating faster.

"Where is _Angleterre_?" There was no response. Trying again, desperation growing in his voice as he spoke, France asked, "How do you know so much information about _moi_?"

France's heart dropped at the sight of the sudden smile on the similar face. "Is it not obvious, Francis?" The blond-haired nation was too disturbed by the sickening smile to react at the sound of his human name. "I am you." Suddenly his face darkened in disgust as he said, "_Je m'appelle Jean-Jacques Bonnefoy." _

The cold face reflected the coldness growing in France's heart when he heard the words spoken in his native tongue. He had thought he had not heard words yet to frighten or disgust him in the beautiful language of French, but Francis was wrong. _Just stating his name makes me feel so cold. _

"Where is _Angleterre_?" France asked, his voice rising as he thought of the video he had seen. _Angleterre _with wounds across his neck, screaming as his arm was ripped out of his socket. "Where is he?"

The other France smiled lazily. "Which England are you talking about, Francis? Is it my Oliver…or is it Arthur?" It had been centuries since the French nation had heard that human name, and France felt himself shake. _Arthur… _When had it been since he had called his long-ago friend that name? Hearing it brought memories to the surface. Of a small child crying in his arms from the taunts and arrows aimed from his brothers. The older nation singing the younger to sleep, stroking his soft and unruly hair. France felt his heart clench, the pain from the memories still deep, remembering of when the entire world had only been both of them, laughing and playing as if one thousand years had passed. "I saw him, actually." France jolted out of his thoughts, the sickening smile from the other France echoing in his mind. "He…did not look well."

France felt fear, impossible fear that almost took his breath away, through his entire body. "What have you done to _Angleterre_?" He had thought his words would be loud and almost screaming, but they were not. A deep and eerily calm voice came from him as anger took root. "Have you touched him?" France inwardly took a breath as the anger continued to surface, the memories of over one thousand years of warfare coming into mind as he stood, his hands shaking. "If you have touched him, I will –"

France did not expect laughter. It was quiet, but laughter had something dark inside – something darker than France's worst memory as Jean smiled at him.

"What does it matter if I touched him or not?" the voice suddenly rasped, looking at France's eyes darkening with fear. "He's already dead."

France's world seemed to still. His mind was unable to comprehend what he had heard. _Dead…? _He could suddenly see nothing in front of him, only seeing the blood soaking on the walls and a faint figure sobbing as he screamed. _Non… _France could only gap at Jean before him, his voice sounding foreign to his own. There were suddenly screams, and France realized moments later that the screams were his own.

"_Angleterre _is not dead!" France gritted his teeth at the sound of Jean's laughter, echoing in his ears as Italy continued to tremble. "He is not dead! I have fought against him, and I _know _–"

Jean held up a finger, ceasing the rage and desperation in France's voice to choke.

"I will make you see nothing but beauty, France." The nation's mouth gaped open as sudden, irrational fear flooded through him as Jean suddenly pulled out his saber by his side and pointed the blade at his paling face. "Soon you will be screaming."

France found himself lying on the ground, Italy in tears and begging his older brother to get up. Somehow the sight of the crying Italian could not make France stand. His once bright blue eyes were blank, staring almost sightlessly at the wall above him. He could still feel the screams in his ears, the blood, and the _fire_. And laughter. His own laughter echoing in the darkness, almost maniac and insane as France stared dully at the ceiling. _Why…do I not have any memories of this? Why...do the screams of the conquered people not haunt my dreams?_

"The memories that echo throughout your mind are yours," Jean said in a monotone voice as France lied motionless on the floor. "I bombarded you with memories of atrocities so severe and debilitating that you no doubt feel dead." He suddenly crouched down, leaning his face towards France's. "You created me after the knowledge what you had done – and what your people had done – became too much for your mind to endure…so I was created. _We _were created." There was rage and hatred seeping in his tone, making the face darken as France saw the face above his own. "That is where your Arthur is now…although he has had to put up with more of Oliver's bullshit than you."

"Do you love him?" France's voice was weak and thin. He had heard the familiarity in the counterpart's tone when speaking of that name that caused France's anger and growing despair.

Jean laughed, the laughter burning in France's numb brain as the ironic laughter continued until it suddenly stopped.

"Love?" There was that sneer again, mocking and smoldering with disgust as France watched silently as Jean casually lied his hand across France's cheek. The gesture, one that the French nation was familiar with affection and adoration, stiffened from the blond's touch and stiffened when he pulled away. "You know how I feel about love. I hate Oliver. There is _nothing _of love in our relationship," he hissed.

Suddenly, the counterpart looked at the crouching Italian at his feet. The auburn-haired nation whimpered at the sight of the cold eyes, and flinched.

"Italy." The nation stared fearfully into the cold depths and passive expression as Jean spoke. "Do you hate France?"

"Why would I hate France?" Italy whispered, his voice shaking with fear as tears dripped down his face. His open amber eyes oozed of innocence. "He's my _fratello._" The hearts stilled as Jean softly stroked Italy's cheek.

"You should hate him, _mon _Feliciano." France inwardly went stone-cold, feeling as if a cold rain had occurred as he stared at Jean with gaping blue eyes. "He is the one who –"

"_Non!" _There was true desperation and despair growing in France's voice. His voice's tone almost pleaded as his pitch rose. _"Non, Jean. Merci…merci…non." _His voice became a whisper as he was unable to meet Italy's concerned amber eyes.

Jean only smiled.

_It was raining. France saw his former self hold a bloodied sword. A sickening and wide smile framed his face as he saw the small figure in front of him. The Holy Roman Empire, his robes torn and stained with blood and dirt, glared at France despite being in his child body for centuries. It took only a moment for France to realize what he was seeing. _Non, non, non! _France thought in horror as he pleaded inwardly for Jean to stop – pleading him to do anything to stop this. It was a plea on deaf ears. France watched with bated breath as he saw the Holy Roman Empire struggle with his sword, unflinching like the dead empire he was as France grinned and charged. _

_Despair washed over France, for as he watched himself slash and parry the Holy Roman Empire's weak thrusts as blood pooled from his wounds, slipping with every step. France watched as the child nation panted, sweat coating down his face as a sudden and almost feral grin emerged from him. France could almost hear Italy's screams when his younger self thrusted the sword deep into the Holy Roman Empire's stomach. He twisted it, blood pooling onto the ground as the Holy Roman Empire stared into his eyes, blank and fading away. It was only then that France remembered the screams._

"BRUDER!" _Prussia pushed France away as the nation laughed, feeling pride and satisfaction seeping through his limbs as he heard the once arrogant Prussia's pleads and sorrow. "Bruder…bitte…bitte…__Sie können__nicht sterben! Bitte...Ich brauche dich! __Bitte__..__meine __fantastischste__er staunlich__großer...bruder__...__lass mich nicht__!" Drowning in despair and sorrow and grief. _

_France was numb as he watched his older friend plead with his dying brother, pleading for him to stay and not let go. He heard him howl, the scream bleeding in his ears as the young nation sobbed like a child with tears against his cheeks as he rocked back and forth. Screaming his brother's name, kneeing. Turning behind the pathetic sight, France laughed as he walked away. _

France stood eerily still as Jean stared emotionlessly at him. Why remind him of what he did? France remembered that moment, stabbing the nation in the chest, blood pooling beneath his feet. He had never forgotten it.

Abruptly France turned when he saw Italy turn to him. The once-carefree nation's eyes were empty, looking like glass and echoing in his own as the pale face continued to stare at him. His face was blank.

"France." The nation was frozen, unable to say a word as Italy stared at him with empty eyes. "Did…you truly kill the Holy Roman Empire?" Guilt and agony plagued through the nation's body, unable to take a breath as Italy continued to stare at him. His fingers twitched, as if trying to curl his hands into fists but the muscles too numb to do anything. From the despair and desperation on the blond French nation's face, Italy lowered his eyes. His hands stopped twitching and were lowered by his sides.

Suddenly a sob emerged from him, half-choked and almost a scream. The nation started to shake, his body almost collapsing from the now-violent sobs tearing through his throat.

France held his breath as Italy stared at him. Gone was the carefree and blissful nation. Now stood a nation who knew the meaning of despair, yet again.

"How could you kill him?!" Italy screamed as tears ran anew down his cheeks. "How could you do it, when you knew how much he meant to me?!" Numbness was the only sensation France felt, staring at the figure who was sobbing at his feet. "I was your little brother, France! How could you…how could you…?" For a moment, Italy looked as if he was about to collapse, his eyes unfocused. France moved to catch him, but was pushed away, landing hard on the stone floor.

"_TI ODIO!" _

France watched as Italy's form became farther and farther from his own. He didn't have to understand those words to know what they meant. A deep sadness and self-loathing overtook him as he felt his eyes burn.

How was is it that Jean's voice suddenly seemed too sweet and cruel at the same time? He crouched down to France, silently looking into his eyes. "This will make it better," he promised.

_It was raining again. _France stared at the figures behind him. He could see himself and _Angleterre. _They were fighting and shouting. Suddenly France's eyes widened at the sight of himself jumping on _Angleterre _and holding him down. _What…is happening? _A soundless gasp of horror came from his lips as he heard his laughter and England's pleads. _Please… _he thought, desperately trying to close his eyes from the sight but couldn't. _Please…God…not this. _He heard the screams, agonized with despair and pure fear and agony as his younger self began to laugh. _Angleterre _wouldn't stop screaming. _Oh my…God… _the nation thought as the screams rose and rose and rose and wouldn't stop. He saw blood. He saw _Angleterre_'s tears. _God, please! _It wouldn't stop. The screaming. The blood flowing on the ground. _Angleterre_'s words, French feverishly pleading from his mouth as he sobbed. The… _Please…anything but this. Anything! Please! _A soundless scream tore from France's throat.

_ANGLETERRE!_

How was it that he was still breathing? How…was it that his eyes were not blinded from the memory he had been tortured with? France, the so-called nation of love, was beyond despair. He knew nothing but what he had seen. _Angleterre… _His despair and grief was too deep for tears. His throat was raw from screaming. His mind was empty. _Angleterre… _

…_Arthur…_

"You say that love cannot be forced upon them," Jean whispered as he stared at France's broken form. "The nation of love…the language of love…was all a lie…wasn't it?'

France didn't respond. For a couple of moments, he couldn't think. He could only remember the nightmare. The nightmare so real and so frightening that it could not have been real. But it was.

France…had raped England. His _Angleterre. _His _mon petit lapin. _His…

Despair and hate and deep and dark rage surfaced inside the Frenchman. He didn't even know where he was at the moment, only seeing _Angleterre's _horror and

"_Merci,"_ France whispered. _"Merci_…please let me see…" he choked back a sob. _"Mon Angleterre. Mon..."_

_"Merci…"_

* * *

_"Bruder…bitte…bitte…__Sie können__nicht sterben! Bitte...Ich brauche dich! __Bitte__..__meine __fantastischste__er staunlich__großer...bruder__...__lass mich nicht." _(German)_ \- _"Brother...please...please...please...I need you. Please...don't die. Please...my most awesome amazing brother...don't leave me."

_"Tio odio." _(Italian) "I hate you."


	18. Memory XVIII

_"TIO ODIO!"_

Italy ran. He had no idea where he was, or where he was going. It was as if the once bright world he had loved had died…leaving nothing but darkness and emptiness.

He could only feel the heavy pounding of his dead heart.

France, his big brother France had killed Holy Roman Empire.

His childhood love.

Italy felt tears streaming down his cheeks, the tears melting against his tongue, and dripping onto the floor as he continued to run sightlessly. Italy felt a howl tear from his chest, drowning him in the despair and agony he had come to know on _that _day. He had _seen _France's smile, and seen the blood drip from the wound in Holy Roman Empire's stomach. The blood, drenching in the rain. Prussia's screams.

He could hear his own voice, vacant and devoid of emotion. Numb with shock and despair. As he stared at France, begging for him to understand. _I…don't understand anything anymore, _Italy had thought as he continued to run, ragged gasps wheezing from him as the despair curled around his throat. Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was it…? Italy gave a gasped screech, tripping on one of his feet and falling hard where he landed. The auburn-haired nation continued to cry, the tears falling from his eyes, sobs coming from his torn mouth as his mind became shattered tiny pieces. _Holy Roman Empire… _The nation had been a bright light in Italy's life when he had lived in his house. In the beginning, Italy had been afraid of him. He had wanted Italy to become part of the empire he had created. But Italy didn't want to. He had seen the jagged scars on Grandpa Rome's body and had seen of how he suffered. The little nation hadn't wanted a person he cherished to die like that. _It happened anyway, _Italy thought as gasped sobs escaped from his throat as he rocked back and forth. _It happened anyway…and I was too weak to protect him! _Holy Roman Empire had been his light, his heart, his everything, but now…

_How am I still alive? _Italy thought as he quieted. The tears still pelted down his cheeks, and his he had stopped rocking. His body was still. _How…can it be than France…killed…?_

The smile on France's face as he killed the Holy Roman Empire burned through his mind. The laughter that pealed from his lips, and look in his eyes brought back memories of Grandpa Rome. The infant was supposed to stay away from the chambers that his grandfather slept in, but he _so _wanted to see the beautiful paintings and figures that the nation talked about. The auburn-haired nation had peeked, seeing his grandfather smile. The infant nation was shocked to his core when he saw his loving grandfather – the same one who taught him how to paint and draw – hold a tiny little body wearing white. Italy could see that his hair was blond and he was very small – hardly old enough to walk. _Is this a new brother? _Italy thought excitedly despite what he had seen moments before. _When will we be able to play? _

Then he heard cries. The tiny nation was crying, his tears thick and falling onto the floor as the audible shrieks of pain echoed in Italy's ears. He could see a hint of green eyes, beautiful as the emeralds his grandfather loved so much, continuously shedding tears as Grandpa Rome declared that Britannia was dead and that her youngest whelp was now his slave. Italy watched with wide eyes, growing with fear, as the older nation smiled and laughed – looking insane and eyes alight with lust – until the tiny nation in his arms crumped into unconsciousness.

Italy never mentioned this memory to anyone, especially not to England.

_I…told France that I hated him. _Italy clenched his fists in his hands, almost drawing blood, and gritted his teeth. He thought of how Holy Roman Empire had died, with a sword cutting through his flesh, his face pale and bloodstained as a nation sobbed over him. _I… _He released his hands and dug his finger nails into the floor, desperate to hang onto whatever sanity he had left. _I…_

"You certainly are a noisy one, aren't you?"

Italy slowly raised his head and could see a person of the same height standing in front of him. He wore a dark brown uniform, pressed and clean. The same amber eyes bored into Italy's own, and the nation continued to stare. _Me..? _There was no curl. The hair was cut short, and Italy noted of the small knife he held in his hand.

"_Chigi." _Italy shuddered at the use of profanity, and the look-alike stared at him, a sudden crazy look in his eyes. It was as if…he _enjoyed _his discomfort. "Feliciano…"

"_Ve?" _Italy inwardly shook at the smile his look-alike sent him, and moved away when he suddenly started walking towards him. _The way he says my name…it's not what I'm used to, _Italy thought frantically as he remembered of how his name sounded between a hiss and a purr, without any warmth. _It's – _

Italy stared downward, noting the strange feeling of liquid coating down his pants. His eyes widened with horror at the sight of blood, dark red and thick, flowing down his leg and onto the floor. The nation instantly trembled, a scream on his lips when he saw that the knife was now embedded in his chest. Italy suddenly coughed, feeling something hacking in his lungs, and felt blood coat his lips as the cold eyes of amber stared him. The blood continued to drip on the floor. "My name is Luciano Vargas." A sudden, almost gentle smile caressed his face, and Italy gagged when he felt the blade push deeper. "It is nice to meet you, sweet, naïve, and innocent Italy." Using his hands, which as Italy peered closer, were stained with blood. _Old blood, _the northern half of the Italian nation thought. _Not mine. Not… _He caressed Italy's cheek, almost like a lover. "I will make you scream."

Then he twisted the knife and Italy screamed.

Luciano began to laugh as he continued to twist the blade, words forgotten to him as the nation continued to sing to him with his screams. Luciano pulled, the knife and the blood coming free in a stream as his counterpart collapsed. The dark nation tsked. _He is much weaker than the others… _Slowly, the counterpart stared at the unconscious form. _He doesn't even remember he created me…or anything else. I hate him._

Luciano tightened the knife in his hand, feeling the familiar rage and hatred boiling inside.

_I HATE HIM!_

Without a thought, Luciano removed his uniform, his eyes glancing briefly on the healed flesh that once bled – and plunged the knife into his stomach. He gasped, feeling the relief and rage he had felt since he had met that useless nation and had seen him _crying_. Luciano liked to cut things. He liked to make things bleed, especially if Oliver or one of those fucks would allow him to cut them until their bodies were diced up_ so_ nicely.

Luciano had heard the screams and shouts that he was insane. Even compared to Allen – who was the most sadistic bastard in this hellhole – was a lamb compared to Luciano. He didn't know why he enjoyed inflicting so much pain. Perhaps it was because his counterpart was so _happy._ Feliciano had been raised in the house of the Holy Roman Empire, far away from the despair and tragedy of his own people, and had only stagnant memories of pathetic sadness and sorrow. It had amused the others that Luciano had been created _centuries _after they had. Allen, Jean, Nikolai, Oliver, Ming-Li, and Kuro – along with all the other bastards – used to torment him until he pulled out his knife. Ever since he had the human body of a child, he had the knife. Soon he began to cut and bleed – starting with himself. The pain became a drug, and it wouldn't go away. Nor would the hatred.

Which was why Luciano wouldn't waste his time.

He would kill Feliciano.

The nation grabbed the unconscious form, knifing him again to wake. He was greeted with a scream, and Luciano smiled. _So nice…like the beautiful music that I know you listen to. _Immediately, rage burned within him at the thought, and Luciano buried the knife into Italy's leg until it hit the bone. Inhuman and agonized screams filled his ears, calling out in Italian as the nation sobbed. Luciano glared, pulling his pathetic counterpart to his feet, the blood sticky and pouring onto the ground as the nation _whimpered. _

_No mercy, _Luciano thought.

* * *

_Italy found himself in a battle field. He was shaking, his gun almost knocked out of his hands. Why are we here? he thought desperately. Italy could see his boots coated with dirt on the ground of a foreign land. I want to be with Germany, Italy thought as a lone tear slipped from his eye. He would know what to do, and I…don't want to be here!_

_Germany!_

_Italy had no choice. He remembered of how his boos had pushed him against the wall with an iron grip, contempt in his eyes. "We aim to make you and your brother an empire, Italy. Don't you want that?" He roared, spittle coating against Italy's flesh as his boos continued to scream. "You have to be strong! You have to go to Ethiopia! Otherwise…" His eyes narrowed, no longer showing the kind eyes Italy's people knew. "You will _never _see your…friend Germany again."_

_The auburn-haired nation whimpered, remembering of how his brother had been locked away in a cell for days for unleashing his rage on their boss. He was still recovering from the madness that had been his reality during the last day there. Italy gulped, now seeing the sight in front of him. He could see Ethiopia in front of his soldiers, now longer smiling at the formerly carefree Italian that he had known. Italy cried, not willing to meet the gaze of his former friend, screams forcing down his throat as he saw his own soldiers throw mustard gas – blinding and maiming and killing. The worst, however, was to hear Ethiopia curse him, screaming with his eyes blind as Italy wept. _

_Italy had blocked out the entire Ethiopia invasion from his mind. He had no idea why Germany was talking about the friend he had just made in such a serious tone, or why the German's manner seemed stunned when Italy asked if he would like to have pasta for dinner again, this time with Ethiopia._

* * *

"Chigi!" _Italy backed away hastily as Romano aimed for his head. The blow landed on a rock, causing his older brother to curse as he held his broken and bleeding arm. The personification of the southern part of Italy was staring at the auburn-haired nation in disgust. "Coward!" Romano bellowed.  
"You're a fucking coward! How can you not fight? Huh? Listen to me, little brother." At once, the slightly shorter brother pulled Italy towards him, causing the terrified Italian to open his eyes to stare into the abyss of rage. "We've on the Allies side now, thank God! No more mind-fucking wurst-obsessed Germans! And we're going to kill them! We're going to kill them, Feliciano." Italy shuddered at the sight of the bloodlust entering his darker amber eyes. "Just you wait. The partisans don't care if we're nations – hell, they won't care if –"_

"_But…" Italy whispered. Abruptly, Romano let him go, rage growing by the moment as Italy continued to stare at his clean hands. For the past year, Romano had been a partisan, a rebelling force against the fascists and the citizens of Germany's house. Romano didn't care that he was a nation, and as a nation in civil war or heavy violence between two sides, they were not supposed to fight. "Fuck the rules!" The darker Italian had screamed at his brother. He didn't care about anything. "I just want that German dead!" Italy had fought against tears, and had not spoken to his brother for a very long time, no matter how much he pleaded. _

"_But…_fratello_, you could die. And you know that we can't die multiple times, because if we do –" _

_Romano snarled and picked up his brother by his uniform. "Our house isn't doing so well, anyway, with our so called _allies _bombing the shit out of us." Then, Romano glared and stared at Italy with such detest the Italian would do anything to make their relationship as good as it had been when they were children – only, he remembered that their relationship had never really been…healthy. "You are a coward, Feliciano." His voice was low and deep. "You hide behind every war, every battle, and when it finally matters, you leave!" Romano spat, and Italy found himself on the floor. _

"_All because of that fucking_ bastardo_ German! Are you in love with him or something?! He is the reason why the entire world is so fucked-up right now, and yet you…" Italy began to cry. The silent tears steadily became loud and noisy sobs at Romano's hateful words. Suddenly, Romano noted the agony and despair on his younger brother's face. His face paled, and he shook. "No, no, Feliciano…you couldn't." Romano continued to stare, and then abruptly starting hitting him, screaming. "You should be dead! You don't deserve to live! After this, if you continue to _lust _after this monster, I will kill you myself!"_

_Romano's words echoed in Italy's mind as he numbly walked the streets. He meant what he said... The Italian thought with angst and despair. Tears were pouring from his eyes. I…don't understand why anyone can hate Germany. He's so kind. He likes to make cakes and sings in German when he does it. He…sits with me in the meadow on a blanket and he we have a picnic. With wonderful pasta and wurst. I love Germany's hair, especially when it's down…the same way he said when he thought I was asleep that liked my eyes very much and wished he could see them more often. He yells at me, but that's only because he cares for me. Germany…never left me, never abandoned me. I…_

_Abandoned him._

_It had only been a years since Italy and his brother had joined the Allies. He still remembered running to them, laughing as his brother held his hand, as he witnessed the smirks on his new allies faces as Germany stared at him. Italy had turned, expecting to see Germany call out to him, happy that he would finally be fed again and wouldn't have to depend on him anymore, but Italy stopped short, his hair waving in the wind at the expression on Germany's face. Italy had never seen Germany so broken. Even in Versailles when he had been forced to sign the peace treaty, he had never seen Germany so…broken. It was as if the German was seeing something only he could see. His once clear eyes were clouded, and he didn't respond to the insults the scary American said. Italy tried to call for him, and he almost relished the sound of Germany yelling at him. _

_But there was nothing. The nations laughed – excluding Italy – when Germany stumbled, hardly on his feet and began to walk away. There was only silence as Italy almost manically tried to call Germany, to no avail._

_Then, Germany's house had started the invasion. _

_Italy now walked, his tears now clogged inside his heart as he heard his citizens talk about Germany. Every word was a thorn, and every malice sentence was like a wound to his heart. His people hated Germany. His own people, who he loved dearly and would do anything to protect them…wanted him to hate the tall and strong German he had come to know as a very precious friend. I can't hate Germany. Hearing enough, Italy pushed the humans aside, hearing their yells and cursing him. Germany! He thought. Where…are you? I miss you!_

_Germany! _

_Italy found that he had run all the way to a small pond. He had run from the small town into the countryside, his lungs being stabbed with every breath he took, and his knees falling onto the ground. Italy crawled onto the ground, loneliness almost stopping his heart as he began to look at his reflection. The amber orbs Germany had secretly adored were now dull, almost dead. The Italian, who had once loved siestas and pasta and painting found no joy in life. He was simply tired. He wanted Germany. He wanted – _

_There was a sudden rustle in the bushes. _

_Italy turned, looking closely. There was another noise. Suddenly, the auburn-haired nation could see eyes – light blue eyes, the color of the silk of the shirt that Italy had wanted to give to Germany. "Germany…?" he whispered, hoping beyond belief that the said German was there. _

_Italy gasped as he abruptly felt himself lying on the ground. His eyes widened, knowing that face from anywhere. He looked haggard, burns and wounds all over his body, bandages wrapped around his forehead. His eyes blank. Suddenly, Italy saw the gun. It was in his left hand, and pointed at his face. _

"_Germany, it's me!" Italy screamed. The German made no response. His dead eyes focused on Italy's, and the Italian gasped. Rage and anger were slowly growing in the two eyes, and Italy tried to run away as the German stubbornly held onto him. "Germany, stop! It's me!" The gun was pointed on his face and then pressed on his cheek. It was heavy and cold, and Italy started to sob. "Germany, it's Italy! Don't you remember?" The Italian froze as the gun was placed at his temple. He heard Germany's uneven breathing, could feel the wounds reopening and bleeding. The one hand that had helped up Italy so many times now was on the trigger. _

"Germania…" _Italy whispered. Tears were running down his cheeks, and Italy almost felt himself waiting for the bullet in his head. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed as he watched the German's expression above him. "I'm so sorry…I didn't realize I would hurt you so much. I'm sorry! I…miss you, and I…want to be with you again." He felt his flesh tingle from the coldness of the gun, and surprised himself by reaching out to cup Germany's face. "By your side…no matter what…I would always feel at peace. No matter where you are, or what you have become…I love you…Germany."_

"Ti amo."

_Suddenly, Italy felt Germany get off of him. The blond-haired nation didn't seem to hear him as the nation softly called him. He stared to shake. His entire body shook. _

_Then there were audible sobs. _

_Germany was shouting, the agony and torment in his bleeding voice of despair. _

_"Italien__...__Ich habe dich geliebt__. __Ich habe dich...geliebt. __Ich würde alles für dich tun. __I__ch__... nur__einmal__, ich wollte __einfach nur__mit dir sein...und nie__von deiner." _A scream tore from his throat._ "__Seite weichen__. __Ich__... Ich habe nicht__über den krieg__zu kümmern...__solange..sie__waren__an meiner Seite__... und ich__...__liebe dich immer noch__.__"_

_"Ich liebe dich__immer noch__, __Feliciano__!__"_

Luciano waited for his weakling counterpart to respond. He didn't. He simply stood there, bleeding, his mouth opened in shock. The knife was buried within him, and Luciano snarled, trying to dig deeper.

_"Germania…" _There was a smile.

That was the last word Feliciano said.

Luciano screamed, losing his mind as his eyes only saw dripping red. He could see in his mind the knife, dripping with blood and more, screams and death fill his mind as he continuously stabbed the nation. Luciano was covered with blood. The knife drowned in it, the drops creating a pool on the floor. His hair, his face, and his hands were smeared with the delicious liquid. Feliciano was lying on the ground, countless holes in his body, gaping holes that bled. Dark liquid was still flowing underneath him, and the dark Italian gaped at the sight of Feliciano's amber eyes open, dead, with a faint smile on his lips.

_"AAHHH!" _

* * *

_"Italien__...__Ich habe dich geliebt__. __Ich habe dich...geliebt. __Ich würde alles für dich tun. __I__ch__... nur__einmal__, ich wollte __einfach nur__mit dir sein...und nie__von deiner." _A scream tore from his throat._ "Seite weichen. Ich... Ich habe nichtüber den kriegzu kümmern...solange..siewarenan meiner Seite... und ich...liebe dich immer noch. I__ch__...__liebe dich immer noch, Feliciano!__" _(German)

_"Italy…I loved you. I loved you. I…would do anything for you. I…just for once, I wanted to simply be with you…and never leave your side. I… I didn't care about the war, as long as you were by my side…and I…still love you. I still love you, Feliciano!"_ (English)


	19. Memory XIX

Warning for scenes of rape and gang rape!

* * *

Germany had spent the past century thinking of his past atrocities. It was, he thought, a wound that would never fade away. A wound that still festered inside him. Poland had a grudge against him, and wouldn't speak to him. Russia too, continued to hate on the German nation, and although Prussia had laughed off his younger brother's questions of abuse, there were times in the night when Germany could hear his brother's screams and muffled sobs. _It is my fault. _Despite almost a century after his birth, Israel could still faint in his presence and hyperventilated whenever he heard the German brother's speak their language to each other.

That was why, when Israel was at war with Palestine over and over again, causing bloodshed and turmoil with the blood of the innocent, Germany became unnervingly quiet whenever the other nations tried to lecture the younger one. _"It is because of the Holocaust!" I have no right to say anything… _Germany had thought as the room faded from his mind as he remembered the ghastly screams and death and inhumanity. _I have no right to be here… _Always, Italy would hold his hand when the darkest history of his nation was mentioned, and said nothing in return when Germany had broken his hand.

Italy hadn't always been there. Germany would never forgive himself for pointing the gun at Italy's head and almost killing him. He would never forget, either, of how he had sobbed and screamed, blubbering to Italy that he still loved him. The German had stayed rooted on the spot, his eyes red and sleek and straight blond hair disheveled. Italy had gone. After the war, Germany had in vain to contact Italy, but his heart – which had been traumatized beyond belief – had broken when Italy sobbed that he didn't want to see him. The darkness had festered, numbing him to the world and the life he had led during the period after the war. Germany would always think about the Holocaust, about Poland, about Russia, and _everything _in the war. It was a wound that would never fade. The Allies had forced him to see everything of what had happened in the concentration camps after the war. For a moment, they didn't believe him when he had said he didn't know until the fourth year of the war. Then they had looked into his hollow, vacant eyes, and realized he was telling the truth.

No one had asked him how he had known about the concentration camps until 1943, or of _how _much he had done. Germany had seen America with his smile and self-proclaiming himself as the hero who saved all as the Allies bickered among themselves who had saved who and who was the hero. China had argued that he was the hero because he had defended his entire nation all by himself. As Germany listened, he had heard the raw pain in the older nation's voice as he audibly spoke of the war that had wounded him so badly.

_"Justice has been served, though!" _America had shouted, his fist into the air in the September sun. _"I bombed Japan's house, and he surrendered!" _Germany had seen of how China's eyes and wavered from America's, his golden brown eyes drowning in sorrow as England lectured him. Afterword, America had never spoken of that justice again, and when it was mentioned, the young superpower would not speak and avoided his close friend Japan for a long time.

It had happened because of what had happened with Italy. Germany had never thought that Italy would abandon him. He had been afraid that he would forget about him with his pact with Russia, but the German had assured him that nothing would break them. _This… _he had thought as he watched Italy and his twin Romano run to the Allies, laughing and smiling as they held hands, echoing through his shattered mind. _This…I thought it would hurt. But… _Was Italy calling out to him? Germany didn't know. It was as if his mind was dark, in a dark deep place, hazy and uncontrollable. _But this…I never thought it would hurt this _much_…Italy. _It was then that his boss had told him about the concentration camps. The words echoed in Germany's mind, neither exciting him as his boss had expected or moved him to madness. It simply held no meaning to him. Until the anger came. The deep and dark anger that refused to sleep, that fed him every waking minute. All Germany wanted to do was destroy. He didn't care about anything or anyone, Italy's abandonment a wound that could never heal. It was only then did he start taking a part in the executions, in the gas chambers, and dumped the bodies in mass graves and watched them burn. Germany watched as prisoners of war were slaughtered and killed, as his soldiers killed and killed. His blue eyes say all.

Prussia had told him he understood, when Germany had gotten drunk on the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the war and the _stupid _American mentioned the Holocaust and its victims. Although healing was meant to be part of the meeting the nations had planned, all that happened was opening old wounds, some of them very old. Germany remembered of Poland, screaming at Lithuania when the brown-haired nation suggested forgiving Germany. _"Never!" _the former carefree blond had replied. _"I'll never forgive him! What he did never faded away, and it will never fade away as long as I and the nations who suffered under his bloody massacre will live! He'll never be forgiven!" _Germany had paled, suddenly finding it hard to breathe and the room spinning out of control, the bodies never leaving his mind. The fire, the people screaming… He had pushed Italy's hand away, and run out of the room, hearing only Poland's indignant cry of, _"Hey, Japan! Why don't you, like, do what Germany did after the war? Everyone knows that you massacred China's and Korea's people too!"_

_ We're more alike than we say we are, _Germany had thought after that night, nursing an extreme hangover as Prussia snored by his bedside. He had seen the Asian nation, months after the war, and was stunned by the nation's state. Wounds covered Japan's body, oozing blood and the smell of burning flesh and the former dark hair now gone. He was completely bald. _"From the radiation, Germany-san." _Japan had weakly smiled at him, closing his eyes as the German continued to stare horrified at his ally. The tall blond hurriedly looked around for America or England or maybe even _China _for help, but found no one in Japan's one bedroom, where only a small futon rested with a very weak nation inside. Germany had whispered to Japan that he would be back, before returning to find a very small bowl of rice with chopsticks. When he had tried to feed the nation, carefully guiding his hand to Japan's slim neck to support his head, Germany became tense when the Asian nation started choking, his salvia coming down his chin as three small grains of rice pelted down his chin. _"My…people…are starving, Germany-san."_

Just that one movement exhausted him, and the living nation who had his greatest respect during their time together closed his eyes and gasped for breath, perspiration soaking his brow. _"American-san and England-san were shocked and frightened as well…" _At the mention of the nations' names, Germany inwardly flinched and tensed. _"I do not know why, but since my surrender…I cannot eat." _Japan laughed, uncharacteristic and soft as he opened his eyes. Germany stared, seeing the emptiness in his eyes that reflected his own. _"China-san…probably has it worse than me." _His voice faded and Japan's face calmed as the nation started to close his eyes. Germany moved to go, staring sadly at his former ally when Japan suddenly whispered,

_"Ōtanjōbi omedetō gozaimsu…Doitsu-san." _

No one, not even Italy, had told him happy birthday that day. And for a moment, Germany had thought that the autumn sun appeared brighter. The Allies were furious with Germany visiting his former ally without their approval, but theirs words refused to hold any meaning as Japan's farewell echoed in his mind. It was that day that Germany started to cry.

Prussia had tried to tell him that it was _his _fault that the war had happened. _"If I had reigned in the nobility and the elite, they wouldn't have changed our nation so much, West."_

Germany had replied scathingly, _"If the blockade wasn't implemented, then the Junkers would have been abolished instead of when…he came to our house, after the war."_

_ "Yeah…" _A small, ironic smile played across the former arrogant nation's face. _"You're right."_

Germany still remembered the blockade. The Allies had blockaded the food shipped to Germany from the end of World War I to when the Versailles Treaty was signed. The blond nation remembered of how he had furiously called England's, and then France's boss, trying to understand what was going on. _"My people are starving!" _he had bellowed into the phone. Germany could see his brother trying to make himself as small as possible, his head in his hands as pangs of hunger tore through them both. Germany was surprised when he had heard England's voice suddenly, his tone almost apologetic as he explained to the stunned German that only until the conference regarding the end of the war was finished would the food shipments come in.

The tall German was not surprised, however, when there was no word from France. Germany had seen the French nation from afar, staring at him with undisguised hatred. Many of his citizens had died during the war, and it was France's boss who was the harshest of all. Germany was not only required to make coo coo clocks for France, but pay heavy reparations, and the land that made his nation such a success was taken away. The coal and steel needed to pay the reparations was taken away. _"Germany will never rise again." _Clemenceau had stated with a cold look in the nation's direction as France smirked. Germany's situation paled in comparison to Japan's however. Yes, there was starvation. Yes, there were times when both Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Prussia could not eat food no matter how hard Italy tried and wailed, but the situation was much different.

_Do not become like me, Japan. _Germany had thought every time when he heard about Japan's bosses who visited the Yasukuni Shrine and when he overheard the arguments between Japan and China and South Korea and Japan. _Do not be overconsumed with guilt and remorse and self-loathing, as I have done. It goes….until the point where you believe you do not know why you should even exist. _Japan had faced criticism too on his past during the war, but the calm nations said nothing. The two had talked over what the two had faced regarding their roles in the war. Japan had said that he had nightmares about the war, and it saddened him that no matter how many times his bosses apologized for his country's role in the war, his former family refused to accept that.

Germany remembered of the time Japan was again bedridden, bandages crisscrossing his chest as the tall blond sat beside his former ally as the news of the horrific tsunami and earthquake blared. Germany had watched the cherry blossoms fall, his distress evident at not being able to look at the wounded nation long. _It is 2011…and so many people died. "Doitsu-san…" _Japan had rasped, the blond turning sharply to him. _"Look." _Germany's stunned gaze stared at the television screen, a young teen declaring in the video that he hoped that all of the Japanese had died in the earthquake and tsunami because of their actions in World War II.

The rolling text below the screen showed of how the male teen's video had been seen by millions, and outrage was pouring in from America to the own teen's South Korea. Germany had stared at the screen for a moment before glancing at Japan, stunned when he found that Japan was not angry or saddened by what he had seen. _"There are still people like that…Doitsu-san…people who…" _There were no tears. There was only laughter, laughter so sad and heartbreaking that Germany almost took the nations' smaller hand in his. But he didn't. Instead, after turning the damn television, Germany was forced to watch as South Korea suddenly crashed into Japan's screen door, saying breathlessly that he was sorry, he was sorry, and that he was sorry again. German stared at the nation, panting and bending as his knees as the dark brown eyes searched his own for acceptance and forgiveness.

Japan was resting, his breathing slow and deep. Germany had thought he looked calmer than he had seen him during the day after the earthquake and tsunami. _"Tell him yourself, South Korea." _When Germany had asked Japan if he had heard from South Korea in July, he had been met with a blank stare and had questions aimed at him. The German nation had inwardly sighed, disappointment and anger surging through him. No one had asked when South Korea couldn't look at Germany without fear for a while.

_"Germany…" _He heard the voice, echoing in his head as he faced the pale and fading figure before him. _"I am going to make you suffer, da?" _He remembered of when Russia had pressed his body against his own that day, hearing the screams of his citizens as Russia's soldiers raped the women of Berlin. The German tried to struggle, but felt Russia's infamous pipe against his head, where he fell. As the pain was almost impossible to handle as blood flowed down his head and onto the snow, Germany felt Russia's cold and large hands on his own, grabbing him by his hair roughly, almost tearing his roots, and moved his mouth over his in a bloody, violent kiss. _Bruder…where are you? _Germany thought desperately as he felt Russia's tongue sliding against his own. But Germany knew. His older brother was in the Eastern front, with his soldiers.

Germany had come to Berlin, to defend the capital when all of their male citizens were away at war. He didn't cry out as Russia was suddenly on top of him. They were both nude, with Russia's harsh breath against his cheek, the blood dripping down his sides and bruises forming over his body. _Bitte… _he weakly thought as Russia laughed and laughed. _Bitte… _Suddenly, soldiers speaking in Russian came towards them, their nation now looming over them and whispering. It didn't matter that Germany was unable to move and that both he and Russia were naked. The blond in vain, using whatever body he could use, in an attempt to _stop _what was going to come. But it was useless. A large hand covered his mouth as one removed his trousers, Germany almost feeling a scream against his throat.

Was it the fourth?

Or the seventh?

Either way, Germany started to scream.

* * *

He hadn't know what happened. Only waking up to find a strangely defeated Prussia holding his head against his chest. A sheet covered his body. Germany made no sound when Prussia picked him up with only one of his hands and carried him as if he was very small again.

A child, staring bewilderedly at the old nation who stood before him, a sad smile on his face. Once they had reached Frankfurt, one of their houses which had been miraculously unaffected during the war, Prussia had washed him. The warm water and the soap – which would have been a commodity – did nothing as Prussia's gentle hand washed away and grime and the blood and the semen from his little brother's body. Germany found himself in Prussia's bed, hearing his brother's strange quietness as he moved around the house, and then rage as countless pieces of glass were destroyed. Germany had wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted to forget Russia's laughter and his smile as his citizens' bodies were beneath his. He wanted forget, _"How awesome it is to fuck the nation who screwed us over!" _He wanted to forget. But the Allies had told him he must remember everything.

They told him that Germany should remember the atrocities he had committed, just of how they had told him he alone was responsible for the former war. And as such, Germany did not forget. He did not forget the moment of what should have been a nightmare. Russia, despite being almost one hundred years since that day, frightened him. His body remembered. Although the nations had accepted the fact that Germany was deathly afraid of Russia and Prussia had a strange and deep grudge against him (presumably because he had been in his house for forty years), none of them had asked why. No one, not even his former boss, never understood why Germany was so afraid to fight Russia when he invaded Ukraine and war was declared. That war, which last four years, was the hardest years of Germany's life, as nightmares consumed him.

As everything withered away into that one day. The German had been grateful when the war had ended, with Russia defeated and back in his house…where Germany could simply be away from him. Italy, despite the strong bond they had, knew nothing of that nightmare.

"Because they made me remember everything, you almost do not exist," Germany whispered at the poor figure. The transparent figure didn't react, his blue eyes continuing to stare at him. "I tried to forget, and it is only because of that you have this form. However…because _I _remember, you…are only a ghost." Germany pressed his hand against the figure's forehead, the dark uniform with the _"dumbass spider" _as Prussia joked during the 1930s, rested on the nation's arm. _"Es tut mir lied, soldat." _The figure began to disappear, his hands withering away into nothingness as Germany looked at him. The identical blue eyes bored in Germany's own, and then…

As the figure's face – whose name was Friedrich Beilshmidt – faded into nothingness, Germany saw a smile on his face. A true smile of happiness caressed his lips.

_"Danke," _he whispered, smiling softly as he finally faded away.

* * *

There was an actual blockade of food to Germany, and not only German citizens starved. The Austrian-Hungarian Empire also suffered, causing children to become malnourished and first walk at the age two! I was stunned by this as I didn't learn this in my high school history class. I learned about it in my political science class. Nor did I learn about the thousands of women who were raped (by mostly Soviet soldiers) during their invasion of Germany during the last days of the war. I only learned about it in Ken Follet's _Winter of the World_. And when I asked my teacher about it, he acted as if it didn't happen! There was also a disgusting video mentioned in the story of a young Korean man on YouTube (I have no idea if it is still on there) stating that he hoped that all Japanese would die from their actions in World War II. I chose the name Friedrich specifically because it means peaceful. Germany made it so that he faded away...causing unexpected peace. Please review and tell me what you think! The translations are as follows:

_"Ōtanjōbi omedetō gozaimsu…Doitsu-san." - _"Happy birthday, Mr. Germany." (Japanese)

_"Es tut mir lied, soldat." _\- "I'm sorry, soldier." (German)

_"Danke." _\- "Thank you." (German)


	20. Memory XX

"STOP!" America screamed. _"STOP IT!" _

Allen was grinning at him, a crazy smile across his face as he held a bloodied knife in one hand and a gun in the other. He tilted his head, as if America was a child and did not understand.

"What do you mean?" The self-proclaimed democracy of the world hitched his breath, his blue eyes widening further as Allen purred and tried to caress his hand. "Alfred, what's wrong?" His breathing was becoming uncontrollable, sweat gathering around his temples as the counterpart to himself began to laugh eerily. "What is the matter, hero?" He said the word mockingly, and America flinched. "Do you want to see your underlings again? See them –?"

America could hear himself screaming, but could not find the words that tore from his traumatized mouth. When, still foolish and full of bravado, America demanded to see his other nations and snarled that he would save them. The light brown-haired nation had not expected to see his counterpart smile, ever so slowly, before he could see his comrades – his friends – his family _destroyed_. He saw Canada sobbing as his hands and feet were cut from his limbs, China and his numerous siblings screaming as the memories of their dark history entered their minds. America heard the strict and unfeeling German, calling out to Italy in his language, tears pelting down his cheeks as the bubbly Italian lied still in his arms, covered in blood. Worst were Japan and England. The once proud Japanese nation America had come to know as a friend, became a shell of his former self and was convinced that everyone wanted him dead and screamed for someone to kill him because he had no right to live. Greece had come then, and the horror ended when an ancient sword embedded itself into Japan's chest cavity, covering the formerly clean Grecian nation with blood and thick tears that left pale skin visible as Japan's empty eyes sightlessly stared at nothing as Greece tangled his bloodied fingers into his hair. France – America couldn't even hear himself think from the raw grief and sorrow of the Frenchman as the dead Englishman lay across his feet. His name – the human name America had once cursed, came from France as thick tears poured down his face as the hole where the Englishman's heart had been echoed in the younger nation's eyes.

Then England began to scream. He began to tear himself away, his flesh falling and coming away with blood as he scratched and fought, blood streaming down his arms. France had let him go, his once-clear blue eyes glassy and staring as he called out to America's – America's older brother as the island nation continued to scream and tried to run away, his infamous bravery that America had heard so much about gone, until someone with eerily similar eyes came and spilt his head open.

America had gagged, vomit coming down his throat as the sight until he saw a tall and imposing figure was holding something above his face. It was a body. There was nothing but blood, and it streamed onto the floor, creating a puddle. It took only the scarf – the bloodied scarf that he never took off – that America realized that it was Russia. There was a red gaping hole where his lungs and heart used to be, and the blood continued to drip downward. The childlike face was no longer alive, no longer keeping its violet eyes open. The face –

Russia was dying.

He was _dying. _

_ "STOP!" _America screamed again. He urged the memories out of his mind, but he could not. The images burned as if mocking him for his failure. "Stop…" he pleaded in such a small voice Allen had to lean in to listen. "Please…" A sob choked at his throat. "Please…stop. I'll do anything!" America pleaded, not caring of how his eyes hurt as tears ran from his eyes. "I'll do anything! Just…let us go!"

"How can I do that, hero?" Allen whispered. His darker blue eyes flashed dangerously, and his hand caressed the blade, smearing blood with his own hand. "How can I trust _you_?" He snarled, putting his face near America's and breathed, his foul breath almost choking the other nation. "Nation-killer…" the whisper brought a shudder to America's limbs. _Anything but that, _the light-brown haired nation whispered pleadingly as Allen's gleeful eyes found his. _Anything but…_

"You can have all your memories become mine!" America shouted. He could see the uncertainty clouding in Allen's face, and pushed on. "All the memories…everything I have unjustly imparted on you will be gone. You will be relieved, right?" There was still no response. "Germany didn't get tortured because we forced him to remember everything, correct?"

Allen managed a sneer. "And how do I know this is one of your fucking lies?"

"Because my comrades are wounded." America's blue eyes became serious as he recalled the numerous wars he had fought in, never forgetting the men left behind and left to rot on foreign soil. "Because…I cannot see them suffer this way. Let them go, let _all _of us go, and I will assure we will remember everything! You don't have to suffer anymore," he whispered.

Allen stilled. America half-expected him to lash out and remember him something else that he did not want to remember. Perhaps he would call the other parallel nation and tell them to kill England or Japan. America didn't know what he was going to do.

What he didn't expect, he thought, was seeing Allen's tears.

* * *

Somehow they made it back. Somehow the nations who had come to save England and Japan made it back. Somehow they found themselves on the plane.

Waiting.

America could see England unconscious in France's arms, the grip so tight that America thought the nation would never let him go. A haunted look was in his eyes, and he stared remorsefully at the blond-haired nation in his lap. The Frenchman was covered in blood, some of it drying and flaking, his hair tasseled and soaked it sweat, but the once flamboyant nation did not care. Greece was far away from Japan. Instead, he was looking out at the sky, his eyes unfocused. The small nation was cradled in China's lap, his fingers caressing the Japanese's skin softly, tenderly, as if they had not embraced like this for centuries.

The dull news – Scotland and the other British Isles, expect for the small redhead, demanded they listen to the news to not go insane, and hear America almost laughed – jolted everyone in the room when they heard massive earthquakes and tsunamis had damaged the lands of Japan – and then America heard that England's house had been effected too.

He paled, shaking as the nations saw the catastrophic damage, inwardly wanting to look in both of the nation's direction but couldn't, and swallowing thickly when he heard the television thrown out of the window by an enraged Scotland.

No one spoke.

_How many people? _America thought. _How many…? _He was suddenly transported to the tsunami and earthquake that caused Japan to collapse so long ago. It had caused so much damage and destruction that there were areas still not yet rebuilt. _Oh, God… _America thought as he remembered the deaths, the mass graves, and Japan bedridden as concerned allies lay beside his fallen form. _I think I'm going to be sick. _

Suddenly, there was a sound. A breathless sigh, a smile forming against America's eyes as he felt the memories return, the body disappearing, and the soft voice…

Whispering "thank you." Judging from the other's expressions, the nations had the same dream, the same vision, the same voice whispering in their own language as the parallel nations faded away.

But looking at England and Japan and their uniforms stained with old and new blood, their haunted expressions burning, unconscious with the memories forever there, America knew that it didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

* * *

I will write a sequel to this, answering many questions and showing characters that were meant to be shown. Alas, school starts the day after tomorrow. I have no idea when the next story will be written, so please be patient! Thank you all very much for your support!


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